


i walk the line

by Meridas



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beau loves her friends okay, Caduceus Clay gets to go home and nap, Caleb stop running away from your feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Dreams, Fix-It, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Other, Panic Attacks, Pining, Slow Burn, alternate episode 26, fixing things with the dodecafuckball of fate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2019-11-05 02:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridas/pseuds/Meridas
Summary: The Alarm was tripped. The Iron Shepherds are close.Caleb lies there, frozen, and does nothing.The dodecahedron contains countless possible threads and futures. Caleb wakes up early on the morning they are meant to ambush the Iron Shepherds, with a chance to change everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eileen aka steelneena is a gift. Thank you for cheering me up and encouraging this idea into a fic, and for beta-ing for me! <3

The silver thread _pings_ in the back of his mind, and Caleb wakes up with a gasp.

His head spins with deja-vu, a thousand glowing stars and threads of potential spinning through his mind. With shaking hands, he reaches up and pushes the haversack containing the dodecahedron out from under his head.

The spinning stops. Caleb lies very still and stares sightlessly into the darkness of the tent.

The Alarm was tripped. The Iron Shepherds are close.

Caleb lies there, frozen, and does nothing.

The vision from the dodecahedron clamors in his mind's eye, a few things their plan succeeded in and a dozen things that went disastrously wrong.

_A hand waving in the air, Caleb's Slow spell disappearing into nothingness, a feral smile as the slavers turn toward their assault _—_ _

He can feel the warm line of Mollymauk at his back. A corner of his coat lies draped over Caleb, offering extra warmth and the lingering smells of incense and perfume. If he focuses, Caleb thinks that he can pick out the tiefling's soft, even breathing from the patterns of the others.

He concentrates on Molly's breathing, and lies very, very still.

_Nott's fingers fumbling, shaking with cold that blasts ferociously at all of them, his friends crying out in surprise and pain at the agonizing cold—_

Very faintly, he can hear the creak and clank of carts moving along the road. He hopes that their safe campsite is far enough away that his sleeping companions won't notice it. He swallows down the acidic fear climbing up his throat and squeezes his eyes shut.

_Blood leaking from the red of a feather, Molly's eyes going wide just before they roll back and he falls, a voice like the underside of nightmares drawling out, "Respect"—_

Caleb clamps his hand over his mouth. He promised that his Alarm spell would work, that he would wake everyone and they would rescue their friends and everything would be fine, and in his sleep the dodecahedron showed him the consequences of his hubris. His magic, pitiful against the presence of other mages. Nott, brought to a standstill by iron locks and unexpected damage. Beau, bobbing and weaving in her defensive stance but outnumbered and surrounded. Mollymauk— _Molly_.

 _You are not supposed to care_ , he reminds himself viciously. _Stupid, stupid. Foolish attachments will get you killed. Sentiment makes you weak_.

He knows what would come next. If he were still a pupil of the Empire, if his heart was still poisoned by Trent and hardened with ambition, he would tell himself to let it happen. Let the future play out and let Mollymauk—let Molly—

He squeezes his hand tight. His fingernails bite deeper into the flesh of his cheek, his palm presses his lips against his teeth so hard that he begins to taste blood.

He can't.

Unlike his last night on watch, when he kept telling himself that he would go, now he lets the realization wash over him. The vision from the beacon _hurts_ , because he already cares about these people. He cares very deeply about Nott. He likes Jester and Yasha, when she is around. He appreciates Fjord's company and his approach. He values Beauregard, even when they fight. And he cares—probably too much, definitely more than he wants to—about Mollymauk. He's in too deep, and he knows it. He probably knew it even when he tried to make himself leave. Honesty with himself is something that Caleb has tried to avoid for a long time, but in the dull, inescapable light of the beacon's threads, he is honest with himself.

He waits. He hears the sounds of the Iron Shepherds roll by, growing fainter and fainter until they are gone. And then he continues to lie there, silent and immobile, his mind continually ticking away the time. The Shepherds have been gone for two hours when the tent's interior begins to lighten properly, and Beau begins to stir.

He breathes out slowly, savoring this last moment of peace. Possibly his last moment as a part of the Mighty Nein. Then, stomach twisted into knots, he sits up.

Beauregard curses loudly, startling Keg and Mollymauk to awareness. “It’s fucking light out!” she hisses, throwing blankets aside. They drop onto Molly’s head, eliciting an indignant squawk. Nott comes awake with a snort, then immediately shushes everyone. Beau ignores her and scrambles out of the tent.

“Mother _fuck!_ ”

Molly and Keg both stumble over each other getting out of the tent. Nott scampers easily past Caleb and out into the bright morning light. Caleb moves slowly, deliberately, counting every second with a sinking heart.

Beau lets out a furious yell and kicks the fallen tree. Caleb’s breath catches, vision of the slavers’ cart stuck behind that tree, unable to move on so they turned and fought and _they were vicious and strong and it turned bad—_

“They’re fucking _gone!_ ” Beau shouts. She throws her staff to the ground, clattering across clear, fresh wagon tracks. “They got past us, they—” she sees Caleb and zeroes in on him immediately. “What happened to the thread, man? Your fucking spell didn’t go off or what? How did this _happen?_ ”

Caleb thinks for a moment about lying to her. He could tell her that his Alarm never went off, that their spellcaster must have prepared a Dispel Magic and bested him. He could let them think that he is simply not very good, rather than tell them that he made a choice to lay still for two hours and destroy the hopes they had.

He does not know how to tell them that he was trying to save something much more precious than the plan.

He swallows. “I heard it go off,” he says quietly. They will know, anyway. Beauregard, for all her faults, is good at finding the truth. Mollymauk, for all his flash, is good at reading people. And Nott… she knows him too well, now.

“It went off,” he repeats, “but I—had time to think, over the night. There was no way we could win this encounter.” He waves his hand at the fallen tree, and the second one they had made ready to fall. “We made ourselves our own kill box here, do you see? We are no longer seven of us, we are only five, and we are not enough. Not here, not like this, and—”

“You’re saying you _let them go_.” Beau’s voice is deadly soft. “You _thought about it_ and didn’t talk to anyone else here, and you just _decided_ to let them _go?_ ”

"You have to believe me," Caleb says stiffly. He sifts through his components, silently counting and hoping no one will notice his shaking hands. _Licorice root, pouch of sand, cat's paw, diamond focus, silver thread—_ He yanks his hand away from the thread as if it burns. Foolish. The thread doesn't know that he ignored it. The thread isn't judging him for letting his friends down. "It was not worth it."

"Not _worth it?_ ” Beau shouts. "Not _worth_ it, are you fucking kidding me, Caleb? They're not worth it to you?" She storms up to him, and his shoulders tighten but he doesn't move. He stares at the ground. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, you think you get to decide for all of us that we're just going to cut our goddamn losses? That none of us deserve a chance to decide if they're _worth_ the risk?"

"They happen to be worth quite a lot," Mollymauk adds. Gone is his usual insouciant, cavalier attitude—his eyes are narrow, his tail lashing like Frumpkin's does when he is very upset. "Maybe not to you, but that wasn't your call to make."

"Caleb," Nott says, more quietly but a hundred times worse for her disappointment. "I—I want to rescue them. I thought that we were going to help them."

"You don't understand," Caleb tries, but his mouth is dry and his throat tight and all he can see is bloodstain on the grass at his feet, an outstretched purple hand gone limp, red eyes dull and sightless at the sky. Bile rises in his throat, and he glances up at Mollymauk. Snowflakes have started landing on his shoulders, dusting lightly over his hair and horns, but they melt away just as quickly because he is _warm_ and _alive_. Caleb's resolve strengthens at the sight of him.

He has the right to be furious. They all do. But Mollymauk is alive because Caleb made a choice, and he will not regret that. Even if he hates him for it, even if the group decides at the end of all this that they are better off without Caleb. He will take their scorn and their hatred ten times over because he is standing here arguing, instead of pulling out his cat's paw to dig a shallow grave.

He does not regret that.

“ _Why?_ ” Mollymauk demands. Caleb looks him up and down— _shine bright, circus man_ , he hears his own voice, the last thing he heard from the dodecahedron, an echo that will never be if he can help it. He does not want to bury Mollymauk Tealeaf. He does not want to lose that brightness in his world.

He may lose him, anyway, of course. He has just let Mollymauk’s best friend in the world be taken away by slavers, after all. He struggles for something to say, anything that might explain him without, possibly, revealing everything he feels.

“We can go after them,” Beau says stubbornly. She rakes her hair out of her face, strands fallen loose in the night. “They can’t be more than a couple hours ahead, we can scope out another spot and—”

“ _No!_ ”

All eyes swivel back to him. Caleb clenches his fists helplessly. “That is a terrible idea,” he says, fighting to keep his voice even. Images clamor and collide in his head, _Molly spits blood, tears on Beau's face, bloodied knuckles hand him a softly glowing periapt_ —

A hard shove breaks him free of the vision, and he loses his footing and falls on his ass. Beauregard stands over him, her fists clenched and eyes burning. “Give me a good _goddamn_ reason, Caleb!” she shouts, her voice echoing and cracking.

“You are clearly not going to listen to me,” Caleb snaps back. “It was a foolish and reckless plan, Beau—”

“This is just like Cali's fucking bowl, but these are _our friends_ —”

“Let's everybody take a damn breath,” Mollymauk says, alarmed, but he's lost under Beau's shouting and the humming of the beacon still echoing in Caleb's ears.

He pushes himself to his feet and storms off, back to the tent. Behind him he hears Beau's furious shout, but he ignores her, ducks inside, and snatches up the haversack. Returning to the standoff in the clearing, he throws the bright pink bag into Beau's surprised arms.

“Have you ever looked into the dodecahedron?” he demands. “Do you know what it does, how it shows you the paths of fate? Did you know that apparently, if you remain in proximity to it, it will creep into your dreams and show you where your path is taking you, and it is nowhere good!” His voice is rising, far more than he normally lets himself speak but she has started this and he has to do _something_ with the intangible agony inside him. “Do you have any idea how terrible today could have been?!”

All three of them—four of them, _verdammt_  the dwarf woman is still here _of course_ —stare at him. Beau holds the haversack listlessly in her hands.

It's Nott, in fact, who breaks the silence. “I've looked at it,” she says quietly, “I think—I think I understand what you mean, how it—it shows you what's going to happen, but then you turn it back and you can change it before it does.” She looks up at him, deep golden eyes sharp and concerned. “Caleb, what—just tell us what happened? What did you see that you're trying to get us to stop?”

Involuntary, Caleb's eyes dart to Molly. The tiefling's shoulders tighten, and Caleb immediately drops his gaze back to the ground. But the damage has been done, and Caleb is sure that as rattled as he is, Mollymauk could read everything on his face plain as day.

“What?” Beau demands. Her knuckles are white around the straps of Jester's haversack. “Fucking _what?_ ”

“We have been gravely overestimating our own ability,” Caleb says quietly. He swallows hard. “I saw that we failed to rescue anyone, and we—we lost—” He chokes on it, shoves down the feelings even deeper. He cannot afford attachments like this, clearly, he cannot afford to be distracted. This silly interest has already gone too far, it has pushed him now to _change fate_. He feels sick. What if he has squandered the opportunities of the beacon now, and he will never be able to use it to undo his past? What if this infatuation has cost him everything he is working towards?

His mind rebels at the idea. His heart, useless and stupid thing that it is, whispers _maybe it's worth it._

“I do not wish to bury any of you today,” he manages. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Nott, a weaker curse from Beau. Mollymauk is worryingly silent.

At last, it’s Nott who speaks up. “So we need a new plan,” she says. She sits down on the ground and pulls out her flask. After a long drink, she looks up at the rest of them. “So what do we do?”

Caleb holds out his hand for her flask. “First things first.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a timeline for updates this time around, but there's more coming. Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this first bit <3


	2. Chapter 2

To say that things are tense as they head north is an understatement. Beau isn’t speaking to him—whether she thinks he is a liar or a coward or both, she keeps to herself in her fuming silence. Mollymauk is painfully quiet, as well. After a few attempts to get the group conversing, he falls back on muttering to himself. By the time they’ve reached camp for the night, he’s also smoked three more of Keg’s cigarettes.

The awkwardness isn’t alleviated at all by the new addition they pick up. Nila is soothing in her own way, quiet and driven, and she brings a much-needed steadiness to their chaotic group. However, she seems to sense the tension between all of them, and she keeps to her own thoughts for most of the day’s travel.

They are still a hard day’s ride away from Shady Creek Run when night begins to fall and they decide to break camp—some of them more reluctantly than others. Beau still shoots Caleb poisonous looks as she sets up a tent, and all he can do is quietly volunteer to take the first watch. It’s not going to help him if he argues with her any more. Hopefully she will fume herself out, or perhaps they will be attacked by goblins or giant insects in the night and she will have a chance to punch her anger out. He is not going to engage her again.

To Caleb’s surprise, Mollymauk offers to take watch with him. He isn’t sure what to say, as the two of them settle in and the others pair up to sleep in the tents. It says a lot about their group state of mind that Molly doesn’t even throw out a suggestive comment when Beau and Keg bump into each other, stammer, then duck into separate tents to sleep. Caleb focuses on the tree line around them.

The nighttime deepens around them. Nothing breaks it but the crackle of the low fire and the soft, repetitive shuffle of Mollymauk’s cards between his fingers. The forest is quiet and cold and still around them.

It is unusual for Caleb to become uncomfortable with silence before Molly does. But whether it’s the lingering stress of the vision, traces of Beau’s tangible anger, or the fact that Mollymauk has been uncharacteristically quiet about his thoughts today, Caleb finds his shoulders growing tight with the quiet. He keeps stealing glances over at Mollymauk, an irrational urge to check and make sure he is still there, that Caleb did indeed divert that awful burial that could have happened. The vision from the dodecahedron lingers like a foul taste in his mouth, ramping up his heartbeat and making his skin prickle. Nothing stirs in the woods around them to take his mind off it.

When the silence grows unbearable, Caleb takes a breath.

Mollymauk, however, cuts him off. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says tersely. “If it really was—whichever one of us it was, I don’t want to know, alright?”

Caleb lets out a long sigh. “Of course,” he says softly. He isn’t surprised, really, that Molly wants to avoid the topic entirely. Part of Caleb wishes he could forget it, as well.

He chances a glance over, but Molly isn’t looking at him. He has put the cards away and curled up on himself, arms wrapped around his middle and elbows resting on his knees. “Don’t say it,” he repeats, his voice shaking slightly in a way Caleb has learned to recognize— _when did he bother to commit Mollymauk’s tells to memory?_ —and his fingers tightening to pale lilac around his biceps.

“Whatever it was, it didn't happen,” Molly says firmly. “So we're not gonna act like it did, we're going to just go on with our lives because it _didn't happen._ ”

Molly's breath is coming quicker, almost gasping by the end of his sentence, and Caleb turns toward him in alarm. Molly is staring blindly into the fire pit, his shoulders trembling badly. Gods, he looks like Caleb at his worst, his breath coming too short as a panic attack threatens to overtake him, and Caleb panics and snaps his fingers and poofs Frumpkin into Molly's lap without thinking.

Molly jumps. The small owl on his knee blinks up at him.

"Oh," Caleb says dumbly. "He is not a cat. Shit."

Molly stares back at Frumpkin. His shoulders shake. Then, incredibly, he starts to laugh.

It's not quite his normal laugh by any means, but the borderline hysterical giggle is better than hyperventilating, and as Caleb watches he descends into real, full-body laughter. His eyes crinkle up and his grin flashes in the firelight and Caleb cannot make himself look away. He should. He knows that he is past the point of cold logic where Mollymauk is concerned, but he shouldn't let this thing grow. He should push it down.

Instead, he finds his shoulders relaxing as Molly reaches out and gently floofs up Frumpkin's soft little owl feathers, slowly stifling his laughter so as not to wake their companions. He trails off into chuckles, the occasional hiccup and sniff that tells Caleb how fragile this momentary joy is.

"Thanks," Molly whispers. He doesn't look over at Caleb, just keeps his eyes trained on Frumpkin and coos at him. "Thank you, Caleb. Truly."

_Don't do it,_ Caleb's mind threatens his heart, but there's nothing to be done for the way it flips in his chest and beats a little harder. _Soft touch_ , he admonishes himself, even as he sends Frumpkin the command to snuggle into Molly's hand and nibble very gently and cutely at his fingers. The broad smile that shines on Molly's face makes his breath catch painfully in his throat.

He is, without a doubt, well and truly fucked.

* * *

 Caleb wakes up just after dawn. Nott is still asleep, curled up against him, and immediately he knows that it is past the time when Beauregard was supposed to wake everyone to continue the journey.

“Shit,” he hisses. Is this some kind of retribution? No, she would not risk falling behind just for that—perhaps she has convinced the others to leave them behind. Leave _him_ behind, specifically, and leave Nott as a consequence. He should not be upset at the thought, _damn_ his gut for clenching and his heart for aching, he should not _care_. He should be ready to leave at a moment’s notice, at a single change in the winds of fortune. The thought of the Mighty Nein cutting him loose should be nothing, should be at most a mild inconvenience.

_Fuck._

He slides carefully out from under Nott and pokes his head out the tent, blinking rapidly in the dim light of the cresting dawn.

He finds Beau immediately, her blue-clad form crouched near the fire. As soon as relief hits him, though, he realizes that she is hunched over, too motionless, as still as stone. Even from the tent, he can see every line of her body taut and rigid as she stares unblinkingly into the undulating gray depths of the dodecahedron.

"Beauregard," he hisses, rushing to her side in alarm. When she doesn't respond he panics, and does the only thing he can think of. He slams the lid of the box shut.

Beau reels back, blinking rapidly. She sucks in a breath, and her eyes snap to Caleb. He's relieved to see her focus on him, even though her face is still gone pale and tight.

She holds up one finger in the gesture to wait. Then she leans over and vomits into the grass.

Caleb winces in sympathy. He removes the box gently from her grasp and stows it back inside the haversack. He suspects that patting her on the back would result in violence, so he keeps his hands to himself.

After a moment, Beau wipes her mouth and sits back up. Her eyes are bloodshot and intense and she fixes them on Caleb. "Were you gonna tell me what we almost did?" she rasps.

Caleb swallows. "No," he admits. "It's gone now. It never happened."

“It _could_ ,” she snaps. “It still _could have_ , if…” Her eyes drift over to the tents, where Molly and Nott are still asleep, along with their two new additions. "I saw a bunch of me," she says, her voice low and uneven. "All going off in different directions, and I—I followed one. She looked really similar, you know? Like me right now, only I—she was crying. Pissed as fuck, but crying, and—fuck." Beau curls up, pushing her fingers roughly into her hair and tucking her knees to her chest in a protective ball.

Caleb stares at her. He feels as though he should look away—none of them have seen Beauregard this vulnerable before, she is a spiky ball of fists and sarcasm. But he is also the only one who knows what she saw in the dodecahedron. He... should at least try to offer her some comfort.

He doesn't touch her, though. Instead he directs Frumpkin over to hop on her knee and be cute. It's not nearly as nice as a cat, in Caleb's opinion, but it seemed to help Molly well enough. Sure enough, Beau looks up, and her twisted-up expression softens a bit. She reaches out and runs the backs of her fingers gently over Frumpkin's soft feathers.

"We can't make it obvious that things have changed," Caleb says quietly. "He—I think Molly knows, but he does not want to acknowledge it. He prefers ignorance, in this. And... I do not wish to cause him pain by denying him that."

"Yeah." Beau glances back toward the tents again. "I'm not gonna let it happen, though," she vows. "Fucking—what a stupid, martyr move, what kind of _dumbass—_ "

“ _Ja_ , he is certainly some kind of dumbass,” Caleb agrees dryly, and Beau snorts.

She pulls out her water skin and rinses her mouth, spitting into the grass. She does it a few times, and Caleb knows well enough not to mention the hitching breaths or the wobble of her lower lip between rinses. When she has composed herself again, Beau takes one single, long pull from her wine skin.

“I'll tell you what, though,” she says, “that dodeca-shitball sucks. How do you not get vertigo every time you look at it?”

Caleb's lips twitch and threaten to smile. “You get used to it,” he claims.

“Pass,” Beau mutters. She wipes her forehead, pushing strands of sweaty hair out of her face. She looks grimy and exhausted, and Caleb can’t imagine that he looks any better. All four of them are stretched thin, wound too tight with worry and fear. They are a dangerous mix of care and fury, this fragment of the Mighty Nein, roiling behind the very fragile veil of strategy. The only thing that keeps them from barreling full-tilt after their missing friends is the thin shred of caution that Caleb, and now Beauregard, have taken from the awful fate that still threatens them.

In a way, Caleb is glad he does not bear the burden of it alone.

“We’d better get everybody up,” Beau says at last. She flows to her feet, and Caleb can practically hear the iron door slam shut over her vulnerability. Beau dusts the light snow off her knees. “Time to get on the road if we’re gonna get our shit done soon.”

“Beauregard,” Caleb says, suddenly struck. She looks back down at him, scowling slightly again. He wants to drop his eyes from hers, but this is important. He holds her gaze. “Promise that you will _try_ to be careful,” he says firmly. “We do not need to lose you in his place. There has to be a way to keep all of us alive and well, we just have to make sure that is the path we take.”

Her eyes narrow. “Caleb, I don’t want you messing around too much with that thing,” she says. “If you go looking for every possible future—”

“No.” He waves away her concern, even as his mind spins the possibilities of the Beacon like spider silk. He pushes the thoughts to the back of his head. Time for that later. “That’s not what I mean. Just—” he tries to think, what Fjord might say in his way that makes their stubborn monk friend listen to him. “We—we will take care of each other, _ja_? We can be a team, and we will be alright.”

Beau crosses her arms, and Caleb braces himself for another argument. But then she sighs, and her shoulders, miraculously, relax.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “We’ve—I’ve got your back, right? And Nott’s. And, you know, even though Molly’s an asshole—well, I guess I’m an asshole.” She considers Caleb for a moment. “Yeah, actually, you’re an asshole, too.”

“I am not refuting you, but are you going somewhere with this?”

She kicks dirt at him, but only half-heartedly. “Team asshole, I guess,” she says, and then she laughs sharply. The sound cracks through the cold morning air, and Caleb hears stirrings from the tents as their friends begin to wake up.

Beau grins at him, though, sharp and ferocious as she holds out a hand to help him to his feet. “We can do this,” she mutters, just to him, and she grasps his hand like the two of them are making a pact. “Team asshole, we can get our friends back and wreck the shit of the people who took ‘em, and we can be fine. Yeah?”

Caleb looks up at her, and tightens his fingers around hers. She hauls him to his feet. “ _Ja_ ,” he says, trying to borrow the steel in her eyes for his own paltry strength. For a little while, he can borrow enough to pretend. “Team asshole it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Eileen for the beta and encouragement! And thank you everyone who commented or kudos on the last chapter! I'd love to know what you guys think <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand thank-yous to steelneena for beta-ing this, and for all the encouragement!! This fic would not be happening without you.

In other circumstances, Shady Creek Run would have been an ideal place for the Mighty Nein to run amok. Free of the Empire’s laws and restrictions, this could have been a place to flourish in their competency and general lawlessness. But without Jester’s excitement at a new place, their spirits are low. With Yasha’s fate in the balance, even Molly doesn’t summon his usual exuberance for a new place. Caleb has never seen Mollymauk _angry_ —he is quick to snap but quick to forgive, and has always preferred cutting sarcasm or light-fingered retribution over rage. The simmering fury is foreign on his face, and he isn't as good at hiding as he thinks.

The six of them keep close together as they follow Keg deeper into town. “We have to move fast,” Beau says, keeping her voice low. She glances around, her sharp eyes taking in the town around them. “They’ve been captive for days, who knows what this fucker has done to them.”

“We have to move fast _in the morning_ ,” Mollymauk says firmly. He meets Beau’s glare with a steady gaze and stands firm. “I’m getting Yasha _back_ , I want her _safe_ , believe you me. But we’re no good to them if we’re exhausted and stupid.”

“He’s got a point,” Caleb says quietly. Beau switches her glare to him, but he can also see the heat leaving her eyes. He holds her gaze for a moment, hoping that his silent reminder can cool her temper. _Team asshole, not team stupid._ Not only do they need their friends back, but the two of them must also ensure that a certain tiefling with more heart than sense does not get himself killed along the way. “One good thing, they don’t know we’re coming for them,” he points out. “We could still make use of the element of surprise.”

“Keg seems to think we’ll have a day at least before they’re in any danger,” Molly adds with a nod at Caleb. “So let’s take a deep breath and get a good night’s sleep, and in the morning we’ll actually be able to think about this and do things right.”

Beau sighs through her nose like an irate horse. Caleb keeps that comparison to himself, and fixes his eyes on his shoes as they walk deeper into Shady Creek Run.

By the time they get to Keg’s recommended safehouse, it’s a relief to even see a brothel just as long as it’s not imminently dangerous. While Caleb pulls his hood further around his face, Molly drapes himself across the bar and waggles his fingers at the barkeep with a grin. To Caleb’s eye, he falls short of his usual charm and vigor—his smile a little brittle, his shoulders a little tense compared to a week ago in Hupperdook. But there is a small comfort in the fact that he is trying.

“And of course there’s companionship if you want that provided,” the proprietor is saying as Caleb comes closer. Beau slaps her hand down on the bar with the clink of gold. Caleb has immediate regrets.

“It has been,” she says, “a rough couple of days. Yes.”

Molly opens his mouth, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. Beau puts her whole hand over his face and pushes him aside.

"Nope," she declares. "If I know you're also havin' a good time it's gonna ruin the entire thing for me, so shut up. Just me this time." The bemused bartender hands her a key, and Beau snatches her key and a bottle of wine and vanishes upstairs in record time.

"Well, that's me told," Molly says, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. He leans up against the bar, the picture of languid ease. "Other services notwithstanding, my good sir, do you provide a hot bath I could enjoy?"

“For an extra gold, we’ll set you up with hot water in your room, sure.”

Caleb does a few quick mental calculations, considering the funds they might need to bribe or hire people in order to find their missing friends. “The three of us can share a room tonight,” he says.

“Good idea,” Molly accepts, already counting out the coin. Caleb feels a gentle swish against his leg, and glances down to see a thin purple tail loop loosely around his calf.

“Better to stick together, anyway,” Molly continues, and for just a moment his mask slips out of place. As nonchalant as he wants to appear, there is mingled relief and fear lingering in the stress lines around Molly's mouth, in the way he lets his tail tap against Caleb's legs as if to make sure he's still following behind.

Caleb almost grabs the tip of the tail, to hold it like he would hold Nott's hand, a reassurance that they are both there. He realizes at the last moment what he's thinking, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead. It’s somewhat difficult to keep his eyes on his own feet as he follows Mollymauk up the stairs, what with the way the damnable coat swishes around and his tail keeps waving back. Caleb goes over the most useful spells in his book, which ones he might need for infiltration, for stealth, for battle in the coming days. He steadfastly ignores the tail.

Nott drops her bags as soon as they find their room, and makes a face at the large bathtub basin standing in the corner of their room. “I’ll be in the bar with Keg,” she says. She hesitates just a moment, glancing between Caleb and Mollymauk. “You—you’ll be okay, right? You’re both going to... be here when I get back?”

Caleb blinks at her. He should not be shocked, but somehow her question takes him aback—and instantly, guilt follows on the heels of his surprise. Of course she thinks he would slip away. Was he not trying to tell himself to leave them all, to leave _her_ behind, just a few nights ago—of course she is right to doubt him.

To Caleb’s sudden shame, Mollymauk recovers before he does.

“We’re not gonna go anywhere,” he says firmly. “Listen, this whole—this is all terrible, there’s no denying that, this has been awful. But we got here, didn’t we?” He spares a glance at Caleb, so quick that he almost doesn’t notice the barely-perceptible flick of Mollymauk’s solid red eyes. “We’re friends, right? Friends don’t abandon each other. So we’re not gonna leave you, Nott, we’re gonna be fine, and we’re gonna get them _back_.”

Nott looks up at them both, her eyes luminous in the lamplight. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “I-I want to save them. I—” she twists her rings around her fingers in a nervous habit, and Caleb notices she keeps twisting the ring with the blue stone that she “stole” from Jester. That night feels like it was so long ago.

“I want to save them,” Nott repeats, her voice bolder this time, “not because they help keep us safe, not because we owe them anything, but… because I love them. You’re right, we are friends. And like Beau said, they’re family. And family’s important.” She nods resolutely.

Molly’s tired face lights up with a smile. He ruffles Nott’s hair, and she allows it with just a wrinkling of her nose. Then she looks over at Caleb. He gets the feeling that she wants something from him, that she is waiting for something, but words stick in his throat. He’s—he wants to say that his attachment is purely clinical. That losing Jester, Fjord, and Yasha would simply be a waste of resources, of the time he has spent on them. But he knows now that he is fooling himself, and he doubts he could fool Nott and Molly.

Ever since the dream from the dodecahedron, his focus has been slipping. He knows it, but he is at a loss as to how to stop himself from falling further. He won’t say—he _cannot_ say what Nott has so easily said. _Love_ is something from his past, something he lost along with his home. He has not been deserving of that in a long time, if he ever was. Nott’s hopeful eyes want him to say it back, but he can’t.

He clears his throat. “I am with you,” he manages. “I—”

He fails. There are no words in Common to express to her the snarled knot of feelings in his chest. So he swallows it down, and nods to her, and he hopes that it conveys enough.  

Nott seems a bit more relaxed, and she squeezes Caleb’s hand once as she brushes past him. She opens the door again just as an attendant approaches, a bucket of steaming water in her grasp.

“Oh good!” Molly exclaims, dissipating the heavy moment that lingers between the three of them. He gestures grandly at the empty basin in the room, and immediately begins the undignified process of wiggling out of his boots. “Thank you, you’re a lifesaver, thank you kindly.”

Caleb claims the bed, scrunching himself up far out of the way as a handful of attendants file through the room, one by one until the bath is full and steaming. They pay no attention to Caleb, however, with Molly stripping cheerfully and chattering lightly with each of them. Caleb pulls his spellbook out and lifts it up to his face, determined to lose himself in the arcane symbols.

Finally, he hears the door shut, and a contented sigh as Molly plops himself in the bath. The sound of soft splashing is surprisingly calming, as is the floral scent of the soaps. Caleb flips the pages of his spellbook, considering the usefulness of a Hold Person spell, or his odds of finding the components for Arcane Lock before the morning.

“You’ve still got a spell to study, don’t you?”

“Hm?” Caleb glances up from his book. “Ah, unfortunately no.” He sighs. “I do still have the Invisibility scroll that Calianna left me, that’s true, but I do not have the materials I need to actually copy it. I need to practice, to actually learn the spell and make sure that I have copied it correctly into my book.” He runs his fingers regretfully along the edges of the empty pages of his spellbook. “I ran out of the enchanted ink I need quite a while ago.”

“Um…” Caleb dares to glance over at the basin. Mollymauk is scrubbing at his elbows, studiously not looking at Caleb. The tips of his ears and the tops of his cheeks are flushed deep pink from the heat of the water. “Actually, check the—there’s a pocket in my coat, it’s got a green lining to it? Go in there, and, um…”

Caleb frowns but gets up, his curiosity getting the better of him. He can see Mollymauk watching him from the corner of his eye, but he riffles through the pockets of his ridiculous overcoat until he finds one with a pastel-green inside. He finds a small parcel wrapped in layers of soft paper, and without even unwrapping it he knows the familiar weight and shape of a vial of enchanted ink.

He stares at it. “Where—how did you—”

“That weird herbalist who made us the cool sparkly potion,” Molly explains. He grins, something both genuine and also bravado at the same time, but Caleb can’t quite decipher what it means. “Jester wouldn’t let me ask for _fun stuff_ , although he was _definitely_ the person to ask, but I figured you might need it, so… anyway, there it is. I hope it’s enough for—” 

Impulsively, Caleb leans forward, seizes Molly's face between his hands, and plants a kiss against his wet and soapy hair. “You,” he says, and words fail him again in his giddy, unbelieving delight at the opportunity Mollymauk has handed him. “You are—I will pay you back, I can—”

“You don’t owe me a thing,” Molly says airily, perhaps a bit squeakier than his normal voice is, but Caleb supposes he has actually surprised the unflappable Mollymauk Tealeaf.

Caleb looks down at him, his mind spinning out in the many new directions available to them with a spell like Invisibility at his fingertips. And Molly means it, he realizes, because he had purchased this for Caleb over a week ago, long before the incident on the road, long before he could possibly feel indebted to him for anything. Molly has had this—has kept it for _him_ —for no reason whatsoever.

“You know,” Caleb says, almost laughing with excitement, “you were right, absolutely. You are a good guy, Mollymauk Tealeaf. You are alright.” 

Molly laughs, surprised and delighted, his eyes wide. “You’re very welcome, Mister Caleb,” he says. His ruby eyes actually seem very deep, up close, with slightly darker red irises that Caleb has never noticed until now. “You—did you know you’ve got soap in your beard, now?”

Caleb barks out his own laugh, dizzy with the possibilities. “Soon enough I will be able to become invisible, and you won’t even know. How about that?”

Molly’s grin is something special to behold, lovely and genuinely _happy_ , crinkling up the corners of his eyes. There is a trickle of soapy water about to run down from his hair, and without thinking, Caleb swipes it away before it can sting.

Mollymauk blinks rapidly. The tops of his cheeks are a much softer reddish-purple than usual, possibly because of the heat of the water. Caleb has never noticed before, but he also has very faint freckles dusting his cheekbones; Jester’s are much more prominent and dark, where Molly’s seem like they are in fact a shade or two lighter than his normal skin tone. Caleb brushes another trail of soapy water absently away from his temple.

“I—thanks,” Molly says, his voice gone quieter. “Um… sorry, your bandages have got wet.”

“Oh.” Caleb draws his hands back, and examines them thoughtfully. His bandages are indeed soaked through at the palms, with little soap suds still fizzing slowly away. He will not be able to copy spells safely like this, lest he smear away the precious ink Molly has supplied for him. He’ll have to take them off.

“I won’t look,” Molly promises softly. Caleb looks back at him, and he quirks a small smile. Then he drops his eyes, pointedly picking up the bar of soap again. “I’ll just be over here, definitely paying no attention to whatever wizardly thing you’re doing over there, with or without all of your bandages on. Don’t mind me.”

Caleb feels the first stirrings of anxiety ease away at Molly’s tone—which was surely his intention, and he is grateful for it. He steps away, back towards the bed and his spellbook still lying open on top. “I appreciate it,” he says gently. He sets down the bottle of ink carefully, then begins slowly unwinding the old strips of cloth from his arms. His throat feels tight, but he knows what he wants to say. He clears it slightly, and glances sidelong at Mollymauk. He is scrubbing studiously at his knees, his back to Caleb. “I-I do not mind… as much as I did, perhaps, even last week. I am beginning to trust you, truly, Mollymauk. Perhaps… ask me again, when we are finished with this business here, when we have our friends back.” 

“If you want to,” Molly says, his voice simultaneously light and sincere. “You know it doesn’t matter much to me, right? You can tell me if you want to—or not. Whoever you are, Caleb Widogast, I happen to like you. I don’t mind much if you were someone else before.”

Caleb pauses, and takes a long look at Molly’s back. He wonders, for a moment, if Mollymauk knows or suspects more than he lets on, if he knows that Caleb’s name is, in fact, as new to him as friendship is since he began his new life. But he seems genuine, especially with his eyes carefully averted from Caleb’s scarred forearms.

Perhaps one day he will tell him. It is something that Molly should know, and Nott and Beauregard, and… his friends. They are his friends. Someday, perhaps soon, he will find the courage to tell them.

But first he will have to help rescue half of the Mighty Nein. He sits down on the bed and pulls his spellbook close. His fingers almost tremble with excitement as he pulls out the scroll of Invisibility that Calianna had left with them.

They must get the remainder of their group back. And Caleb is going to do his best, and help them.

* * *

Hours trickle by. Caleb’s head is spinning, full of glyphs and motions and arcane words of power spiraling around and around his head. The soft sounds of splashing and humming provide a quiet background for his work, the scent of floral soap filling the room as Caleb works. He copies the glyph of Invisibility once again, moving his hands in the now-familiar motions, clutching a single eyelash between his fingers.

His body shimmers, then vanishes.

Caleb’s shout of triumph makes Molly jump, and a splash of water sloshes onto the floor. Caleb immediately drops the spell, elated at his success, and meets Molly’s wide eyes.

“I did it!” he gasps. “I’m—yes! It works!”

Molly’s face splits into a wide grin. Caleb smiles back at him, unable to do anything but beam. “Thank you,” he says genuinely. “You—this will change things, Molly. This will make everything easier. Thank you.”

Molly crosses his arms on the edge of the basin, and props his chin up on his folded hands. “You’re very welcome,” he says. His smile is softer, shining quietly in the dimming lights in the room. “You know, is that the first time you’ve called me Molly?”

Caleb looks back down at his spell books. He can feel the tips of his ears growing hot. “Um—I’m sure it’s not, that is your name, after all, that you prefer to go by—”

“To my friends, yes.” Caleb doesn’t trust himself to look over. He can hear the smile in Molly’s voice. “Thank you. And—I’m glad it helps. I’m glad you’re here, Caleb.”

Caleb nods down at his book. “I _—ja_ , it’s.” He clears his throat. “To be quite honest, Mister Mollymauk, I have been a coward for a very long time. I almost—I think I might have run away, perhaps many times, from this group. But I am here, and I am beginning to see that… _ja_ , this is better. It is better that I stay.”

“Good,” Molly says warmly. “Now pass me that towel, would you? It’s getting cold.”

Caleb reaches for the towel draped over the foot of the bed, and tosses it to Mollymauk. He scoots himself around to face the wall, telling himself that he is ignoring the sounds of water cascading down a body. He is well-aware of what Mollymauk looks like. His impeccable memory can still conjure the perfect replication of that day in the bathhouse, the lingering glances he had taken along the lean, smooth lines of Molly’s body, the tattoos and scars that cover his soft lavender skin.

He hears bare feet padding around the room, and the rustle of clothing that follows. He chances a glance over, and finds Molly’s decency covered with a long silky robe, surely the kind of thing provided with the room. Caleb doesn’t imagine that Mollymauk would have passed up the opportunity to show off a slinky thing like that, if it were his own possession.

Molly sighs, deep and satisfied, toweling vigorously at his hair. “Much better,” he says. “Now if I die tomorrow, at least I’ll be clean!”

Caleb’s heart jumps, his vision swimming briefly once more, back to dirt and blood smeared across Mollymauk’s face, his hair damp with drying blood and falling snow as they buried him, and this time he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out as Molly passes by him. Usually Caleb can smother these impulses, but the last week has stretched his mental capacities to their limits, and before he knows it he has Molly's hand clasped in his and a pair of very surprised ruby eyes turned toward him.

"I—um." Molly's hand is very warm. Caleb takes a deep breath, trying to gather his scrambled thoughts. "I am not going to let that happen to you," he promises, very quietly. "I know that I... in the past, I have promised Nott that I will protect her, as she does for me, but I—I am realizing that my... it extends to more than Nott, now." He realizes that his fingers are quite tight around Molly's, perhaps even painful, but Molly has not made any indication he wants Caleb to let go. His slim, calloused fingers are still wrapped around Caleb's in return. "I'm sorry," Caleb mutters. "I am not making sense."

"I think I get the sentiment, dear," Molly says gently. "You’re staying with us. We’re here for each other. You know it's mutual, right?" He squeezes Caleb's fingers lightly. "No one's shooting arrows at our wizard if I can help it."

Words get stuck in Caleb's throat, blocked off by the vision of laying Mollymauk out on his tapestry, by the vicious voice in the back of his head that says he deserves none of Molly's protection or kindness, by his own stumbling heart and inability to push down these wants. Instead he just nods, looking down at their clasped hands. The golden nail polish Molly had applied so carefully back in Hupperdook is badly chipped and scraped away already. It has been the longest week Caleb has experienced in quite some time.

"Caleb?"

He looks back up, quick enough to catch the uncertainty, even nervousness, that flits across Molly's face. He looks tired, and unusually earnest, as if he's laid down all of his carnie charm for the night, and all that is left is someone who is fairly new to the world and feels everything very deeply. Caleb is struck by the desire to run his fingers through Molly's damp, disheveled curls, tuck them back into place and soothe the anxiety from his forehead. He pushes it down and settles for an inquisitive noise, instead.

Before Molly can gather his thoughts, though, the door creaks open and Nott shuffles in. Caleb lets go of Molly’s hands, and misses their warmth immediately. “Are you ready for bed, _spatz?_ ” he asks, and he thinks his voice can even pass for unruffled. 

Nott nods, kicking off her shoes before scrambling into the bed. She gives Molly a look up and down. “The bed’s big enough to share,” she offers, “ _only_ if you’re not naked, though.”

Molly shrugs. “Alright, that’s fair.”

Caleb packs his spellbook carefully away, listening to Nott and Mollymauk squabble lightly as they find their places in the bed. He tucks the now-empty ink vial into one of his pockets before he reclaims his spot for the night. He will find a use for it again—and he’ll find a way to give something back to Mollymauk, no matter what he says.

The lamplight snuffs out, but Caleb keeps his eyes open in the dark, staring toward the ceiling. He tries to keep himself awake—he knows he needs his sleep, but a part of him wants to stay conscious, finding comfort in the sound of Nott's familiar snuffling snores and Molly's deep, even breaths. He almost wishes that Beau were in the same room, as well, although she mumbles in her sleep. Caleb finds that he wants to know that this little group is safe, at least for the night, as if he can protect them by listening. 

But all too soon the peaceful sounds of his friends’ rest, and the warmth of Molly's body fighting off the northern night's chill, sends Caleb's heavy eyes drifting closed. He slips into a deep sleep to the sounds he has come to associate with home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, there's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/a.mackenzie13/playlist/2YbLRmzdhwbmRYHBfXC32E?si=lYUUb_VETgGeRg-fvWMF5A) for this fic now!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: there is art!! to go with this chapter! made by the lovely Panda in the widomauk discord!! you'll find it at the end of the chapter <3

When Caleb wakes up, there is a single wonderful moment where he feels calm and comfortable and free of nerves. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking in the dim grey of early morning. He can feel Nott curled up against his back, poking him with her small sharp feet. Mollymauk is still on his back, his horns digging impressions into the pillow, his eyelashes fluttering lightly as his eyes track back and forth in his sleep. For a moment, Caleb lets himself breathe in the warmth and safety afforded here, stolen in this small moment. Then, the list of everything they need to accomplish and everything that could go wrong begins to clamor in the back of his mind, and he sighs, then starts to wake the other two. 

He tries to cling to that fleeting peaceful feeling throughout the morning, when their little group of six decides to split up to cover more ground in Shady Creek Run. Armed with information from the barkeep, and very aware of the ticking clock looming over them, separating for a few hours is as reasonable as it is terrifying. Caleb’s calm doesn’t last very long—no sooner have Nott, Mollymauk, and Nila disappeared from his sight than his heartbeat picks up and nausea twists in his guts.

“Let’s get this over with,” Beau says grimly, tugging on his sleeve. Her eyes are hard and bright, and the sharp, tensed line of her jaw tells him not to mention his fears. Surely she is already as keenly aware of them as he is, but she is determined to plough through their situation one problem at a time, as cleverly as possible. They have discussed this, and he trusts her. He trusts each of them, in fact. The new knowledge of the Invisibility spell circles through his mind like a promise, not an escape hatch. He is almost surprised to realize how much he is planning to _stay_.

So he follows Beau and Keg through Shady Creek Run, and when they come face-to-face with Ophelia Mardun, he takes the lead. He meets her in a familiar language, familiar dance, familiar talk that brings back memories of his training, his foolish dreams of what his future would entail. He knows better now. He still knows how to use it to get what they need from her. 

It doesn’t mean that he doesn’t sit down and have a panic attack the moment they leave her estate, but Beau is very kind about it. She pats him on the back, doesn’t say anything, and hoists him back to his feet when he gets his breath back. 

"Come on, man," she encourages grimly, patting him on the shoulder. “Let’s go see what those guys picked up in the woods. They’d better be back soon, we don’t have all goddamn day to wait. Now we’re getting our friends back _and_ getting a job done, we need to get this shit on the road.” 

Despite Beau’s griping, Caleb can practically feel the tension leave her body when Nott, Molly, and Nila finally reappear at the inn. They’re followed by—well, this person can only be a member of the family of clerics the barkeep had mentioned, because Caleb cannot imagine another reason for them to have brought a seven-foot-tall pink-haired firbolg on their stealth-critical mission. Gods above, Mollymauk is loud enough in his dress already. It’s just as well Caleb knows how to make people invisible, now. 

“Huh.” Beau clicks her tongue thoughtfully, looking the new fellow up and down. “Wow, okay. So, I guess you found that grove, huh?” 

“ _This_ ,” Molly says, gesturing to the newcomer with great flourish, “is Caduceus Clay. Excellent cleric, very poor taste apparently, because he’s decided to throw in with our sorry lot, even though his home is very nice indeed.”

“It is a lovely place,” Nila agrees, and for the first time there is a small smile on her face, the lines of worry and determination softening just a bit. “I had never heard of another family of my kind living in this area, but they have tended a beautiful home there for many seasons.” 

“There’s a whole family of giant druid-y, cleric-y folks living out there!” Nott exclaims. She glances over at the new firbolg in their midst. “He’s the _smallest_ of them, Caleb, can you believe that?”

Caleb and Beau share a glance. “What do we owe you for your assistance, Herr Clay?” Caleb asks warily.

The firbolg turns that broad, almost unnervingly peaceful smile on Caleb. “No need for payments, Mr. Caleb,” he says.

Caleb narrows his eyes at Mollymauk. “Do you intend on putting everyone we meet up to this habit, now?”

Molly grins at him, rakish and familiar in a way that bolsters Caleb's hope. “I didn’t do a thing!” he says, putting his hands up like the picture of innocence. “He’s a polite fellow, all on his own.” 

“Sure,” Beau interrupts, “but polite only goes so far, and we’re gonna be doing some dangerous shit, man. What are you after?” 

Caduceus tilts his head thoughtfully. “I would never say no to a friendly cup of tea once we’re all done,” he muses, “but really, I was fighting with my sister and felt like taking a walk.” 

Caleb looks over to Mollymauk. Never bullshit a bullshitter, as their colorful friend likes to say—but Molly gives him a small, confident nod behind Caduceus’ back, and it isn't as if they are spoiled for choice in Shady Creek Run. A healer of any sort is not someone they can afford to turn away, even if he is a strange pink-haired individual.

One more glance at Beau, and he can see she’s come to the same conclusion. "Okay," she says, "well, the other good news is that the Gentleman's contact wants the same thing we do. So let's talk about how we're gonna take down the Iron Shepherds."

* * *

The night offers as much cover as they can hope for, and they cannot afford to leave their friends waiting any longer. They are as prepared as they can be; there is only one last thing weighing on Caleb's mind. 

“Mollymauk.” He reaches out and grabs his wrist to hold him back from the group. Molly turns toward him, his look of deep concentration breaking in favor of curiosity. Caleb swallows. He hadn’t thought this through—despite turning the idea over and over in his head, he has not settled on any words at all.  But now he has Mollymauk’s attention and only a few seconds to say what he can. 

He fumbles into his pocket. “Take this,” he mutters, passing Molly the only remaining health potion he has. Molly’s eyes widen, and Caleb overrides him before he can protest. “We have a very helpful cleric with us, and I will be standing twenty feet back as usual, _ja_? And if things go very badly, now I can become invisible.” He musters a smile. It must look weak at best, but Molly’s face softens slightly.

“Well,” he says quietly, just for Caleb’s ears. “I’d be a fool to argue with your superior logic, Mister Caleb.” The healing potion slips into Molly’s pocket, and a bundle of stress leaves Caleb’s shoulders. Molly’s hand comes back, and Caleb should really expect the soft pat on the face by now, but it still takes him by surprise. “And I’ll just have to make sure you don’t get shot at too much, twenty feet back there, won’t I? Sound fair?”

“Be careful,” Caleb whispers, unwilling to break his word but incapable of letting Molly rush off and fulfill the same vision Caleb is trying so hard to avoid. “Tell me that you will be careful, Mollymauk.”

His red eyes are wide but unreadable to Caleb. “Do my best, dear,” he says finally, and Caleb supposes that is the closest he will get to a promise. He will have to live with it. He will have to make sure that Molly lives with it, as well.

Caleb turns away from Mollymauk, and raises his hand. He takes one last deep breath before the plunge, and then he _knocks_.

* * *

Deep in the heart of the Sour Nest, Caleb presses his hands against the wall and breathes, tight and short through pain and panic. He tastes iron on his lips, but he grits his teeth and tucks himself deeper into the stairwell, out of sight and out of the range of Lorenzo’s fury. 

Because that is who they face—finally, in the deepest dungeon of the Sour Nest, they have met the creature from Caleb’s nightmare, the being that has haunted him since Glory Run Road.

And it is not going well.

The creature that they fight is nothing that Caleb had imagined, and nothing that the dodecahedron warned him about. He had warned the others about the blast of freezing magic, and they’d managed to avoid the spell—but he had been caught completely unaware by flight, by _Invisibility_ , by the near-paralyzing fear of realizing how badly they had underestimated their enemy.  

It’s not going well, but Caleb’s friends _need_ him. He grits his teeth and pushes back around the corner, readying fire in his hand.  

His firebolt smacks the back of Lorenzo’s shoulder, but he shrugs it away and pays Caleb no mind. Instead, that horrible grin from Caleb’s vision is fixed on Beauregard, bleeding and defiant as she desperately dodges that bloodstained glaive. Torchlight glints off the red edges of the cruel weapon, nearly the same reflection as early-morning sunlight that shone along its edge on the morning that never happened, the morning they lost Mollymauk, and Caleb has tried so hard to avert that, he has _tried_ —

A wild screech and the _thunk_ of Nott’s bolts hitting flesh jolts him back from the edge of his memory. His vision swims, images from the dream bleeding from the back of his mind, and Caleb shoves them away as best that he can. There is no time for that, now. He has to make sure that Molly, that _all_ of his friends survive this time, and then there will be time for that later.

As the oni harries Beau, Mollymauk darts behind him and scores two bloody lines across his back. Lorenzo snarls in pain and whirls toward him, glaive flashing again in the low light. Molly dances back a bit, forcing the oni to split his focus between him and Beau, and he shouts something to her but Caleb can’t hear it over the rushing in his ears.

Beau spits blood and straightens up, her fists raised and eyes hard. Keg picks herself up from the ground, and Caleb yanks the red leather glove onto his hand, hurrying, he needs to get a clear shot quickly, before Lorenzo finishes his assault on Beau—

“Come and get me, fucker!” Molly yells, like the reckless _fool_ he is, and to Caleb’s horror it works. It buys Beau a reprieve as Lorenzo roars and thrusts the glaive forward and Caleb’s vision flashes grey and red and _blood on the snow_ and he _screams—_

Mollymauk cries out in pain as the blade stabs into him, but Caleb’s vision clears and he is _still alive_. At the last moment, his radiant swords had managed to push the glaive just enough off course that it did not crack his ribs, missed his delicate and vibrant heart. It is not good—he is pinned to the wall, the glaive biting deep into his abdomen in a way that makes Caleb sick, but he is _alive_ and snarling in Lorenzo’s face. Caleb stumbles forward, reaching for arcane fire, but Beauregard gets there first.

With a cry of pure fury, she slams her fists into Lorenzo’s open back. _One-two-three_ she strikes him straight down his spine, and for the very first time Caleb sees the oni freeze up and show _fear_.

“Fuck! Him! _Up!_ ” Beau roars, and Caleb releases the Glove of Blasting straight at their stunned target.

Three tongues of fire sear into Lorenzo’s frozen form just as two crossbow bolts sink deep into his flesh from the shadows. Keg races up, shaking blood from her eyes and swinging her weapons with a furious shout, axe and hammer thundering into the monster. Caleb is almost tapped, but he readies a final Firebolt, has almost let it fly from his fingertips when Mollymauk lifts his swords and drives them forward with a hoarse, wordless cry.

There is no way he could miss. Radiant glass and glowing gold hits Lorenzo straight in the chest, pushing nearly to the hilts as Molly leans forward, dragging his own body further against the glaive to sink his swords into the oni’s heart. “Fuck you,” he spits, bloody and furious into Lorenzo’s face, and he shoves against the swords to send the monster’s lifeless body to the ground.

For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing. Then Molly breaks the silence with a painful, strained, “Little help?” 

“Shit,” Beau gasps, and she splashes through the pool of blood spreading from Lorenzo, making a face. Caleb stumbles forward as well, reaching out. Even in the dim light, he can see how pale Molly has gone, his lavender skin gone almost grey under a sheen of sweat. Beau hesitates, her hands hovering over the shaft of the glaive still impaled in his abdomen. Caleb frantically waves Caduceus over to them, and braces Molly’s shoulder with his other hand.

“ _Ja_ , it’s not a fun predicament, is it?” he says shakily. It’s an awful joke and he knows it, but Mollymauk seems to like awful jokes. He gets more of a grimace than a smile for his effort, but it’s something. His breath is shaky and shallow, with blood on his lips, but he is still breathing and at the moment, that is all the Caleb needs to see.

Molly’s hand grasps at his coat, knuckles tight. “Come on,” he grits out, “let’s get this over with.” 

Beau glances up at the cleric, who lifts his hand up, glowing with soft greenish magic at the ready. “Okay,” she says, her voice very calm, “so let’s do this on—”

She yanks. Molly screams, and Caleb stumbles close and holds him upright as Caduceus’ large hand presses against his chest. Cool light washes over him, slowing the bleeding to a sluggish drip as the wounds partially close up and some color returns to his skin.

“Thanks,” Molly gasps—then, “oh, fuck,” as his knees give out and he slides down the wall. Caleb, none too steady himself, is dragged down as well. 

“Fine, I’m fine,” Molly mutters, clearly less than fine. “We’ve got to… need to find them, gotta—”

“Why don’t you sit tight for a minute,” Beau says firmly. She fumbles through her belongings, bringing out a pack of bandages and a water skin. She eyes Molly critically, then shoves them at Caleb. “Here. Take a second, okay? Both of you get a little less…” she waves her hand vaguely at them.

“Beat to shit?” Caleb supplies dryly.

“Thanks,” Molly wheezes, dropping his head back against the wall, “I’ll work on it.”

Beau hesitates, then straightens up. “Thanks for the help,” she says crisply. “And… thanks for not dying. Don’t—yeah. Keep doing that.” She nods firmly.

Molly stares up at her. Caleb looks studiously down at the medical kit in his hands, unpacking it carefully. To his surprise, Molly just leans his head back against the wall and nods back at her. “Same to you,” he says, sounding as nonchalantly amused as his ragged voice and wounded state can afford. But when Caleb glances up briefly at his face, he looks tired, and sincere.

Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb can see Beau turn and walk off. Molly waits for a few seconds, then grimaces and pats Caleb on the shoulder.

“Help me up,” he mutters, “I’m not going to sit in this fucker’s blood, that can’t be healthy.”

“You—Mollymauk, don’t—” Molly makes a face at him, and Caleb is suddenly vividly reminded of another dingy dungeon, another bloodstained floor when their positions were reversed. He sighs, picks up the handful of bandages, and helps Molly shuffle a better distance away from the dead oni. He even manages to keep them from toppling over when Molly gives the body a petty kick as they walk away.

Caleb eases him back down to the floor, keeping an eye on him. Mollymauk looks pale despite the healing magic, his lips pursed tight and his jaw clenched against the pain he must be in. He closes his eyes, slumping heavily back against the wall; even the short movement seems to have taken its toll on him. The deep wound in his torso is trickling fresh blood once more.

“Hey,” Caleb says impulsively, with the memory of the Gearhold Prison in his mind, and he reaches up to pat Molly’s face. Red eyes blink open at him, rather taken aback, but he focuses on Caleb’s face once more. Caleb shakes some clean bandages free and presses them carefully against his chest. The vision from the dodecahedron creeps through his mind again, and Caleb shoves it away as best he can, focusing on the shallow, careful rise and fall of Molly’s chest as he tries not to breathe too deeply. “So much for your expensive bath, hey?” he tries. 

Molly snorts lightly. “You’re gonna need one, too,” he replies lightly. His eyes stray over Caleb’s shoulder, a worried furrow in his brow. “We all stink now, this whole bloody place stinks—can’t wait to get out and find somewhere _nice_ to go for a change.”

Caleb hums thoughtfully. “You want to go somewhere?” he asks, carefully securing the new bandages while Mollymauk is sitting still. Perhaps if he can get him to talk a bit, they’ll both be able to ignore the cold and the stink of the Sour Nest for a moment.

“Somewhere new, maybe,” Molly answers him, his voice distracted but steady. “I suppose we’ve gotta get back to the Gentleman, but the city’s still going to be buzzing with the war going on, so maybe we take our money from him and just—”

Suddenly Molly straightens, his eyes fixed over Caleb’s shoulder. He starts to push himself up, but Caleb’s hand darts out before he can think and pushes hard on his shoulder.

“You are going to hurt yourself,” he admonishes, but Mollymauk doesn’t seem to hear him. He does, at the very least, stay put on the floor while Beauregard sweats and swears her way across the room, carrying a very large, very familiar woman across her shoulders.

“She’s fine,” Beau pants as she reaches them. She lowers Yasha carefully to the ground as Molly reaches for her, his hands shaking as he checks her vitals fretfully. Satisfied that Molly will stay still, Caleb rises back to his feet and looks up at Beau, and she gives him a satisfied nod in return.

“We found ‘em,” she says, and her relief is apparent in the fact that her exhaustion is finally evident in her voice. “They’re… rough, but Jester and Fjord are awake, they’re okay.” Her smile is arrogant, satisfied, and trembling at the edges, but Caleb will not call her bluff. She has more than earned it.

Over her shoulder, he can just barely see Nott at the edge of the torchlight. He can see a familiar blue shape stirring under her hands, and the embrace the two women share as Jester returns to them. Beyond them, in the dark, he can hear the rough but welcome cadence of Fjord’s voice. He takes in a deep breath, foul as the air is here, and then lets it out. They did it.

“Hey,” Beau says quietly, “I just… wanted to say thanks. For what you did on the road. I don’t think I ever said that, but this would all be… well, this would actually suck if you hadn’t made the decision you did back there. We’d have them back, but we… we wouldn’t _really_ be back together, you know?” She clears her throat. “So thanks.”

“We are beyond lucky that it worked,” Caleb replies. “And we are very lucky to have you with us, Beauregard. You have done as much as I—you have done more than I could to keep us safe and to get us here. You deserve thanks more than I.”

Beau scrubs at her face, her raw and bruised knuckles brushing away tears before they can fall. Caleb looks down at his feet, giving her a moment to pretend she is a badass without things like tear ducts.

“I’ll go get everyone together,” she announces after a moment, “and we’ll decide where we go now, I guess.” She groans out loud, and Caleb glances back up in alarm. “I don’t wanna even think about all those goddamn stairs.”

To Caleb’s shock, a small laugh bursts out of him. “Those _fucking_ stairs,” he can only agree.

Beau reaches out and cuffs him lightly in the shoulder. “Sit back down before you fall down, man,” she advises, and she heads back across the dungeon to retrieve their reunited friends.

Caleb slides back down the wall, until he can take her advice and _sit_. Now that he knows everyone will be alright, he feels drained of the last bits of energy and adrenaline that had kept him upright. Gods above, he just wants to sit and not move for a little while. His whole body hurts.

Mollymauk looks over at him. His red eyes are wide, somewhat dazed, a little bit glossy. One of his hands looks badly scraped and battered, but his other hand still cards gently through Yasha’s hair. “We did it,” he says, almost disbelievingly. “We’re gonna be okay.”

Caleb turns to look at him. Mollymauk is still bleeding sluggishly from a cut across his forehead, sporting a blossoming black eye and a split lip as well. His beloved coat is covered in soot and blood. The new bandages on his chest peek through the deep cut of his mussed, dirty shirt. But he has a smile for Caleb, tired and somewhat tremulous though it is, and Caleb finds himself smiling helplessly back. He tells himself it’s relief combined with blood loss.

He looks around the room, letting his head loll back against the stone wall. Fjord and Jester are still coming around under Nott and Beau’s well-intentioned smothering and the actual healing guidance of Caduceus. He fumbles underneath his coat, his sore and blistered fingers finding the familiar snaps of his book holsters.

“Mollymauk,” he says, and it lifts his spirits to see Molly perk up. Exhausted as he is, his tail still swishes gently in the air behind him, and Caleb feels a smile twitch at the corners of his lips.

“ _Ja, ja_ ,” Molly teases, just like he did in Hupperdook before everything got so messy and complicated, and it makes Caleb’s insides do an odd little flip just like it had the first time. Caleb shakes his head fondly, and he can’t miss Molly’s bright smile even as he flips through the pages of his spellbook. It’s that smile that makes his nose crinkle up, brings out the faint lines around his eyes and the dimple in his cheek. It’s not a smile designed to charm or con anyone, but it’s the only one that makes Caleb believe that after all this, they might actually be alright.

He pushes the thoughts about Mollymauk’s smile aside as much as he can when he finds the right page. He flips the book around and holds it out. “Would you mind helping me with this? I have been working on it, I think I can just about manage it, now.” 

“Right here?” Molly asks. He takes the book and holds it open for Caleb, peering upside-down at the pages. A thick purple curl falls forward and obscures some of the arcane symbols.

Before he thinks about it, Caleb moves his hand forward and tucks the lock of hair back behind Molly’s horn. Mollymauk lifts his head, and his wide red eyes catch Caleb off-guard. He’s much closer than he’d thought. His hair slides away from Caleb’s fingers, surprisingly soft.

“Ah,” Caleb stammers, frozen with his hand still halfway between them. He pushes away the urge to rest it in Molly’s hair, or wipe away a smudge of soot on his cheek. He must be even more tired than he’d realized. “It—um, the spell is one that I’ve been.... I mentioned it, on the road. To make a shelter.” His mind provides him with the image of Molly’s interested look, the way he’d offered so offhandedly to help Caleb find what he needed, without any indication that he realized how much that meant to him.

In the present, Molly perks up all over again, his tail waving excitedly over his shoulder. "You can make it right here?" he asks. He looks down at Yasha again. "Probably for the best. Is there anything you can do about the smell, though?"

Caleb smiles, and takes a small glass bead from his pocket. "Let's find out," he replies, feeling the old excitement about magic rising in his chest once again.

He can barely contain his joy when the spell _works_. After so much time working on it, figuring out the arcane symbols and the necessary power and components, it is nothing short of a rush to see a shimmering dome spread out above their heads. It's even better hearing Molly's delighted laugh, see the awe in his ruby eyes as they shine in the soft light inside the safe, magical hut. The temperature is much more comfortable than the rest of the dungeon, and it does indeed smell better inside.

Caleb grins back at Mollymauk as Fjord approaches the bubble. Giddy with success and excitement, Caleb gives the half-orc no warning at all before he reaches through the bubble and yanks Fjord inside. Molly just keeps laughing, his hands settled protectively back in Yasha's hair. It's an exhausted, slightly manic laugh, but right now it's the best thing Caleb can imagine.

After Fjord's initial shock, Caleb sends him back out to gather the rest, and they pile into the protection of his spell. Caleb hugs Nott very hard when she comes to him; he needs somewhere to channel his pride, his _relief_ , and by the way she squeezes him back, they share those feelings. It has been a long day—the longest of long days, but now their friends are back. They are all safe under the protection and warmth and dim light of Caleb's spell.

With the buzz of excitement and success running through his blood, it takes Caleb a long time to find sleep. Instead, he is content to lie awake and listen to the sounds of living, breathing family surrounding him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to Eileen for being a wonderful beta and cheerleader! And thank you Panda so much for the adorable art!! ( _Molly get ur hair out of the book..._ ) 
> 
> Whew, that's pretty much it for the canon-adjacent plans for this fic! Not to say it's all done by a long shot; I have some things planned now that everyone is back together, and I hope you guys will enjoy what's in store! I'd really love to hear what you think about this fic, especially as we head off to new adventures! Thank you all for reading <3


	5. Chapter 5

With the morning comes the joy of realizing that it was not a dream and they are, in fact, reunited. It also brings the renewed energy to ransack the Sour Nest for all it’s worth.

“I would really like it if we could, like, set this place on fire when we go,” Jester suggests, with a contextually worrying about of cheer. “And then we can walk away from it on fire so that we look super cool, and also because this place sucks and nobody should use it.”

“Agreed,” Beau says, already beginning to toss the room. “Let’s take all the good shit and light this place up. The Gentleman’s friend is waiting for us.”

The only dark spot on their morning is the fact that Yasha remains unconscious. Even with the magical cuffs removed, she shows no signs of waking, so Mollymauk elects to stay with her while the rest of them loot everything they can before they put this whole ordeal behind them.

There are a good handful of magical items that Caleb and Jester locate using spells. Nott vanishes for a bit and then turns up with her pockets stuffed full of gems, including one enormous diamond that she hands over to Jester. Seeing their cleric tuck away the critical component to a resurrection spell eases something still wound tight in Caleb's chest. If, by some terrible occurrence, he has only delayed the vision of Molly's death, he can at least rest assured that Jester will be there to get him back. 

He keeps all of that to himself, though, and simply congratulates Nott on her find.

He also, to his surprise, finds a satchel containing two spell scrolls. One of them contains a spell that could be very useful as a distraction, perhaps something he could use on opponents too strong for his Sleep spell. The other scroll takes him a moment to parse—it is outside the realm of his usual studies, and for a moment he thinks it might be something that he will have to pass on to Jester. But then he finishes reading, and it clicks, and he feels the familiar thrill of new magic in his hands accompanied by an excited chill as he realizes how dangerous and how useful this would be. 

It is… definitely something out of his usual comfort zone. This kind of magic could be very risky for _him_ , with how few hits he can take even on a good day. A month ago, he might have left well enough alone, studied this spell for all its potential but never bothered to add it to his spellbook, never dared to use it. But he takes a moment, alone in the Sour Nest holding the scroll, and he thinks about his friends. He thinks about the times Beau has gone unconscious defending all of them. He remembers the icy dread of seeing Nott take a hit that sent her tiny form flying. He recalls the vision of Molly bleeding out on the cold ground, and he knows that this piece of magic he holds could help him prevent that. He could… it would be a risk.  

He mulls it over as he rejoins the group near the wide-open entrance of the Sour Nest. Perhaps he is being sentimental, but he lets himself slow down and look over each of them, and lets himself realize that he cares far more deeply than he ever meant to. Caleb has always been a fan of calculated risks, and he has come to the conclusion that he will put his magic, his heart, his life on the table and gamble for these people. 

Mollymauk looks up as he approaches, and fresh sunlight illuminates his face as he lights up with a smile. The scroll seems heavier than it should be in Caleb’s satchel, and he knows that he will copy it into his book as soon as he is able. 

They load up a stolen cart with their spoils, and when Jester looks at Caleb expectantly he feels it might be time to try out a more powerful spell. He has not felt confident in controlling this much fire before, but with everything that he has accomplished, with the new powers he’s been able to reach with the Mighty Nein, he feels nothing but satisfaction when he looses a Fireball into the Sour Nest. 

“Shoulda set off some of those fireworks,” Mollymauk comments, watching the structure begin to burn and crumble under magical fire. 

“Or brought marshmallows,” Jester adds sagely. Caleb glances sidelong at her, but her face appears quite serene in the light of the fire and the cloudy afternoon. She seems… unbelievably fine after the harrowing experience, but perhaps she is stronger of heart than he gives her credit for. 

“Well,” Caduceus says, leaning his lanky form on his staff. “This has been good. I feel good about this.” He nods, his hair shining pink in the weak sunlight. “I think this means I should be heading home, now. But it is nice to know that this place is a little better than it was with some slavers gone.”

“Oh,” Beau says. “Yeah, I guess this is it. Are you sure you don’t want any of the shit we took, at least? We can, you know, pay you for helping us?”

Caduceus smiles serenely at her. “Nah, I think what we’ve done is good enough. I got to meet some nice people, get out of the grove a bit. It’s nice.”

Fjord holds out his hand to Caduceus. “Thank you, friend,” he says. “I'd like to repay the favor, someday. If you're ever in need, you can get in touch with us.”

“Thank you, I might do that,” Caduceus says genially. “The forest my family protects is getting pretty haunted, so maybe someday I could use your help with that.”

Fjord blinks at him, taken aback. “Oh. Uh… it's haunted? And that's… normal?”

“No, it's probably quite a problem,” the firbolg muses, “but it doesn't need my help right now.” He smiles, seeming deeply unconcerned even as Fjord looks more disconcerted than before. “It was a treat meeting you all. I do hope we'll cross paths again someday.”

He turns away and lopes over to Mollymauk to say his goodbyes, and Caleb walks up to Fjord, who still looks baffled. “ _Ja_ , he tends to be like that,” he says dryly. 

“Huh,” Fjord replies. “Guess the best we can do for now is wish him luck?”  

Caleb shrugs. “I think that is all we can do,” he agrees. “We seem to meet interesting people, sometimes more than once. If he calls in that favor, I think he will find us.”

“Guess so.” Fjord’s gaze lingers for a long moment on the burning outline of the Sour Nest, before he turns away as well. “We’d better get back on the road, then. We still have a job to finish up here, don’t we?”

“We’ve gotta get back to Ophelia,” Beau says, overhearing Fjord as the two of them head back to the cart. “She should be waiting for us. Hopefully her bags are all packed, it’s not like we were fuckin’ subtle about taking out the Shepherds.”

“Are we sure there’s not any time to look around?” Nott asks. “You know, find a little pick-me-up after all this work? It looks like there are a lot of grumpy people around here…”

“There do seem to be a lot of grumpy people,” Molly agrees. “But as much fun as that might be, I don’t like running out of time with people as shady as this.”

“We should probably get going,” Caleb agrees, reaching out to fix Nott’s hood. “But we’ll find you something nice once we get back, _ja_?"

“Hands to your _self_ in Mardun’s house,” Beau warns. “That lady means business.” She pauses, a far-away look in her eyes. “I kinda wanted her to boss me around.” 

“What you want to find services for off the clock is up to you,” Molly says firmly, flapping his hand at her as he clambers up onto the cart. He hangs half-out of the back, half concealed by the enchantment in a manner that makes him look disturbingly disembodied. “Shall we get going before someone decides to rob us, then?” 

Despite Mollymauk’s predictions, it is a surprisingly calm ride with the Sour Nest behind them. The magical protection of their newly stolen cart keep prying eyes away from their vulnerabilities like Yasha’s sleeping form, while Beauregard and Fjord ride up front with the most aggressive posture they can. Even settled in the back, Caleb can feel his nerves mounting as they come closer and closer to the Mardun estate. 

They are allowed into the entryway, and it looks as though Beauregard may have been right about Ophelia’s preparation. There is a very fine coach outside, horses harnessed and waiting. Her steward disappears upstairs to fetch her. 

“Should I send a message to the Gentleman?” Jester asks. She spins slowly around, taking in the artwork in the mansion. “I mean if we’re done with this part of the job, and this was the last part of what were we supposed to do, right? Do you think I should tell him that we’re on our way back now?”

Ophelia’s footsteps echo down the stairwell before Caleb can reply. Once again, she cuts an impressive figure walking downward toward them. Unlike the last time, however, she does not have any witty or dangerous repartee for them. This time, she freezes when she sees them. Caleb glances quickly at Beau, only to see her confusion and tension mirrored back at him. 

Then she says “ _Lucien,_ ” and it is not with the surprise and reverence that Cree said that name weeks ago. Her yellow eyes narrow and her lips curl in a hiss, and in an instant every one of her guards has a weapon drawn at them. 

“Fuck,” Molly says. 

* * *

 “ _Bloody Lucien,_ ” he spits, an hour later as Jester yanks a crossbow bolt from his shoulder. Caleb’s heart is still pounding in his ears. By this time, he wants to be confident that Ophelia’s men are not following them out of Shady Creek Run, but he refuses to move from his post at the back of the wagon anyway. He runs his fingers along the edge of his spellbook over and over again, mentally running through the spells he could to slow any pursuers. He glances over his shoulder at the sound of Molly’s squawk. 

“Shush, you’re going to be okay,” Jester says, patting him firmly on the shoulder. Molly grimaces as she smacks the fresh bolt wound, but then relaxes as she casts her healing spell into him.  

Molly sighs and shrugs out of his coat. He pokes his finger through the new hole in the back and scrunches his nose grumpily. Caleb rubs his hand across his mouth, pushing down the smile that wants to form, and turns back to watch the road behind him. 

“So, what do we do now that Molly’s shitty alter ego with the douchey name has probably ruined our job for us?” Beau drawls, propping her feet up against the edge of the cart. Molly turns his scowl over at her, tail lashing irritably. Beau polishes a guard’s blood off her knuckles and looks unrepentant. 

“It’s probably a good thing I didn’t message the Gentleman that everything was cool, huh?” Jester says. She sighs and drops her chin onto Molly’s shoulder, and he leans his head obligingly so that their jewelry doesn’t tangle. “You guys, what are we going to do? Should I still message him maybe? I could tell him that we did everything right but then his contact went _crazy_ and attacked us for _no reason_ and so we’ll just come back for our money but she’s just here I guess—”

“I’m not confident it’s a good idea to go back, Jester,” Fjord chimes in from the front. He has half an eye on Nott with the reins in her hands, but he turns around to join the discussion in the back. “Now that we've cleared out her problem, there's nothing stopping her from going back to him on her own. And he’s got ways of talking to Mardun, we know that. It’s possible she’s already told him that we’re untrustworthy in some sorta way.”

“It could be prudent to give the Gentleman and Mardun some space,” Caleb agrees. He rubs at his beard, still growing in thick. There are deep disadvantages to this situation—chief among them, the delay of the enormous sum of money they have earned. He could do so much with that kind of coin, which is of course the reason they were on this whole risky adventure in the first place. On the other hand, the Gentleman is a very dangerous enemy to make, and if he has turned against them, they will have to be very careful about where they step. 

“Maybe I can ask him to just send it to us somewhere else,” Jester muses. She rummages through her haversack, coming up with their map. “Okay, so _can_ we go back to Hupperdook, though? Because that would be really fun and then we could visit Kiri and maybe we could just stay there and he could send money to us that way!” 

“I’m not opposed to staying clear of Zadash for a while,” Molly grumbles. “There’s also a war on, let’s not forget. Getting tangled up in that is the last thing I want. Wherever we go, it’s better in my opinion that we go somewhere farther _away_ from all that.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Jester agrees easily. Her fingers spread the map across the floor of the cart, and she gasps. “Oh my gosh, _or_ , you _guys_ , what if we just like leave the whole Empire then? We could go to Nicodranas!”

"Going south might be tough if we're avoiding Zadash," Fjord points out. When Jester deflates, he hastens to add, "I'm not saying we won't ever head that way, but maybe now's a better time to check out what the north has in store for us up here. Wait for things to calm down a little bit down there before we head back." 

“Okay,” Jester sighs. She purses her lips, then pushes the map across the cart. “Beau, you pick a place, then! I picked Hupperdook, so it’s your turn this time!”

“Well, it sounds like west is the way to go,” Beau says, accepting the map. “If we’re steering clear of east, south, and we’re, you know, actively escaping from the north right now.” Her eyes scan the map, then pause, then flick up to Caleb. He gives her a small frown, but she just looks back at the map and continues. “You know, there’s a big river that goes through the mountains over there, that goes all the way out to Port Damali? I, uh, may have known some folks who smuggled shit out of the Empire that way. Maybe we could even find a boat down the river to get out to the Coast after all.”

“Sounds plenty good to me,” Molly says tiredly, beginning to get sewing supplies out of his bag. “The further we get from people who keep calling me Lucien, the better.”

Caleb thinks about how close they might skirt to Rexxentrum. He fixes his eyes back on the road rolling away behind them, and tries not to think about what he will do as they go west.

* * *

 It is their second day on the road, in the middle of their afternoon break, when Yasha finally wakes with a cry. Caleb jumps badly, sending his newly-sorted herbs scattering across the bottom of the cart. Her head whips towards him, her eyes wide and clouding over with emotions that he does not want to be on the receiving end of.

Caleb scrambles for his copper wire. “It’s alright, Yasha,” he says as calmly as he can. “We are free of that place, this is real, I promise you.” He lifts the wire to his lips and casts Message, hoping that Molly is within the cantrip’s range. “Mollymauk, would you come back to the cart as quickly as you can, please?”

Yasha’s wild eyes leave him and she launches herself out of the cart, and Caleb isn’t foolish enough to try to stop her. He stumbles after her, though, hoping that perhaps he can forestall what looks like a mad sprint into the woods, or an appearance of her terrifying necrotic wings.

But instead, she stands frozen just outside the cart’s magical area. Her face is tipped up toward the cloudy sky. Caleb hesitates, unsure whether it’s safe to go toward her, when—

“Yasha!” A riot of color comes barreling out of the treeline, and Caleb breathes a sigh of relief as Mollymauk launches himself fearlessly at her. Frozen as she is, Yasha actually staggers back under Molly’s weight, and for a moment Caleb catches a glimpse of her face, of heartbreaking surprise and shattering relief.

“Molly?” she says, her voice so unexpectedly soft and tremulous, and then she recovers and sweeps him up in a hug that takes the tiefling off his feet entirely. Molly doesn’t seem to mind at all, his feet dangling and his arms tight around her neck as he buries his face in her hair. 

"I thought," Yasha stammers, "I-I had a, a vision, a dream in there, and I thought I—you—” 

"I'm fine," Molly says firmly. He apparently gives up on being set down soon, and wraps his legs around her waist like a child. "I've got my charm back, I'm good. We're okay now."

Yasha doesn’t say anything further. She holds him up easily, a soft smile spreading across her face despite the tears shining on her lashes. Molly’s tail waves contentedly in the air behind him. “Don’t put me down, though,” Caleb hears him mutter into her hair, and he comes to realize with a start that this is a private moment he is watching. 

He turns away from their two circus people, and makes his way back to where Nott sits at the edge of the cart, her feet swinging slightly in the air. Her deep golden eyes are turned toward Yasha and Molly as well, a very small smile on her face. 

“Are you doing alright, Nott?” he asks. “You are doing okay since we had to... high-tail it out of there?”

“Yeah,” Nott says, her creaky voice surprisingly serene. “You know, it’s a lot, but… we did a good thing! We got everybody back, and even though we might not get our money from the Gentleman, it feels pretty good. Like we’re a team…” She glances up at him. “Not that it means you and I aren’t a team! We’re still a team, right?” 

“We are always going to be a team,” Caleb assures her automatically. He can’t imagine not being a team with Nott, after everything they have gone through. “But we are also a team with the rest of them, _ja?_ Or maybe…” he trails off even as he catches himself thinking it. He’s not sure yet, if he is able to say out loud that this pack of assholes might be approaching something like a kind of family. He remembers hearing Beau say it, and perhaps she didn’t mean to, but it has resonated in the back of Caleb’s mind ever since. But he’s not sure if he is ready to feel that, or to say it.  

Nott lets him trail off without pressing. Instead, she pats his elbow and brings forth a handful of freshly-picked flowers. 

“Some of these are for Yasha and Jester,” she says, “but here, sit down. I have enough to put some in your hair.”

Caleb smiles. “ _Ja,_ thank you Nott. That sounds very good.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wonderful and talented [artlyloser](https://artlyloser.tumblr.com/) made this lovely art for my favorite part of this chapter! Go give her some appreciation on tumblr / Twitter! 
> 
> Thank you Eileen for encouraging me through this chapter, and thank you to all of you reading! I love hearing what you guys think, so please feel free to comment because I love talking about this story. I'm excited to move into some more AU territory and get some things moving again! <3


	6. Chapter 6

The nights continue to get colder as the Mighty Nein continues west. The deep evergreen forests of the Pearbow Wilderness afford them some cover as they travel along the winding road, but they’re also increasingly grateful for Caleb’s new spell when they wake up each morning to a perfect circle of snow dusted around the Tiny Hut. Little by little, Caleb tracks the days growing shorter as well, just as he’s done his whole life. In the interest of putting more space between them and any repercussions from Mardun, they keep pushing on under the darkening canopy for as long as they are comfortable before halting for the night.

As Caleb gets out his spellbook and components for their nightly shelter, Yasha appears quietly at his side. “Caleb,” she begins, “I just wanted… I know that you and me, we’re not very good at these kinds of things, so, you know, you don’t have to say anything. But I have to at least say thank you. For what you did for Molly.” 

Instinctively, Caleb glances over his shoulder. Everyone else is still out of earshot—more importantly, Mollymauk is plenty far away, still splashing around with Jester in the stream. 

“Beau told me,” Yasha adds, forestalling his question. “When we were on watch the other night, she said… well, I asked her. I had—” She wraps her arms around herself then, and when he glances up at her she is also gazing toward the stream, her eyes intense and unblinking as if making sure that Molly will not disappear. “I had a… a dream, I suppose. A… I get visions, sometimes. From the Storm Lord. Usually they’re of things like… my past, things I remember, or don’t remember. But this was like I could see all of you, like I was watching from inside that cage.” 

“Yasha,” Caleb says quietly, “you don’t have to—”

“I saw Molly die,” she interrupts, and she sucks in a breath as if her own words are a blow. Out of the corner of his eye, Caleb can see her fingers biting deep white prints into her biceps. “I saw that slaver kill him, and I—I couldn’t do a thing. I was, he told me to break free, and I tried to get out of the chains but I… I wasn’t strong enough, and Molly…”

Her multicolored eyes snap to him, and Caleb almost jolts back at the storm visible inside her. But then in the next moment, Yasha’s shoulders fall and her gaze lowers. The divine edges of her being soften back into just a woman, just someone who is a friend. 

“Beau told me she saw the same thing in the object,” she says softly. “That you saw it first, as a… I guess a possible future? And she said that if you hadn’t stopped them, that would have come true.”

“I don’t think I would call it stopping anyone,” Caleb deflects. “I—yes, I saw it first. But it wasn’t something brave that I did, it was a coward’s gambit. All I did was wait for them to pass without waking anyone. There is nothing brave about me, Yasha,” he insists, “I am not brave like Nott, like any of you.”

“Well I think it was very worthy, anyway,” she says, calm and soft and implacable. “I just wanted to say thank you, Caleb. Whether you think you did very much or not, you did stop that vision. You saved Molly. And I will always be grateful for that.”

She reaches out to him, then hesitates; Caleb looks at her hand, then back at her expression. Does she want a handshake, or should he respond with something? She is not the type for hugs, unless it’s one of their tactile tiefling friends, but Caleb is certainly not counted on that very short list, so he just… freezes. 

Yasha also freezes. For a moment they just look at each other like two cats waiting to see which one will move first. Then Yasha pats him on the shoulder, twice, very lightly. “Thanks,” she repeats. 

Caleb is spared from thinking of an answer by the appearance of the very subject of their conversation. Mollymauk bounds up to them, full of energy despite their long day on the road. His feet skid a bit the slight amount of snow that has drifted through the trees to settle on the path. 

“Brr!” Molly gives a dramatic shiver, scattering cool water droplets. “Damn, Jester makes that look so pleasant, you forget it’s bloody freezing.” He tucks his fingers under his arms, frowning slightly toward the horizon. “Should’ve grabbed warmer clothes at the Crossroads. Oh well.” 

Yasha removes her shawl from her shoulders and drops it unceremoniously on top of Molly’s head. He flails for a moment, letting out a muffled squawk from underneath the fur, before he lifts it carefully from his horns. He wraps it around himself and bumps into Yasha in silent appreciation. 

Caleb doesn’t have a spare coat to offer anyone, but he can get moving with a warm place to stay for the night. “Give me just a moment,” he says, “and I’ll have our shelter up.” Something occurs to him, and he brightens up at the prospect of flexing the capabilities of his Tiny Hut spell.  “I believe I can make it a bit warmer than normal. It wouldn’t do to have you coming down with a cold, Mister Mollymauk.”

Molly turns toward him, perking up with interest. His tail sways over his shoulder, the two hoop piercings catching the soft glow of Caleb’s Dancing Lights. “You know, you never cease to amaze us with that magic of yours, Mister Caleb,” he replies. He has that smile in place again, some combination of excited and cheeky and something else that Caleb hasn’t quite puzzled out yet. 

He should probably stop analyzing Molly’s smiles. There are probably several things that Caleb should stop doing, should remind himself to stay away from more often. He should really spend his time thinking about his goals, searching out the boundaries of transmutation magic, perhaps even studying the dodecahedron and all of its strange capabilities for the far reaches of his own potential. He _shouldn’t_ stumble over his words when a gaudy circus person smiles at him, not even when the smile comes with dancing red eyes and slightly pointy teeth and a little indent in his cheek that Caleb has never noticed before—

“You have dimples.” Caleb feels his face go hot, mortification washing over him as he realizes that yes, the words had come out of his own mouth. 

Molly blinks at him. “...yes?” he responds, his voice going high at the end as if it’s a question. The tips of his ears are slowly turning magenta. 

Caleb absolutely cannot believe he spoke out loud. He fights the desire to simply pull his coat entirely over his face, because he is a logical adult and he knows that doing so will not actually alleviate the problem. “Yes,” he repeats, and he gives a nod, as if that settles that. Then he turns on his heel and walks in the opposite direction away from Mollymauk. He has no idea where he’s going. Surely there is something in this direction where he can hide for three to fifteen years. 

He only gets as far as the other side of the path when he remembers that he has to set up their shelter for the night. He stops short. This is too obvious. It’s _ridiculous_. This—it’s—Molly is—

Caleb fumbles his spellbook open, putting his head down to find the page for the Tiny Hut spell. He ignores the fierce burning in his face and neck and ears. He does not look up to see if any of his friends are staring at him, wondering what in the Nine Hells has gotten into him. 

He has no idea what to do about the ridiculous thing he just said, but he does know how to do magic and he will cling to that fiercely when he has nothing else. The glass bead rolls easily between his fingers, the incantation for the spell coming readily to his lips. He will focus on the spell and ignore what just happened until it goes away entirely. That is the plan. He’ll stick to it. 

When the spell is complete and the softly glowing dome in place, Caleb sits there for a moment by himself, and just drops his head onto the cover of his book. Then, with a deep sigh, he focuses his magic on making the bubble just a bit warmer.  

After all, it wouldn’t solve anything if Mollymauk caught a cold.

* * *

 Sometimes Caleb’s mind is his greatest asset, and other times he wishes he could turn it off. Some things are good, like his perfect recollection of the first time Nott did magic or the way Molly smiled at the sight of fireworks. Other things, like the map in his head telling him how close they're getting to Rexxentrum, are decidedly less enjoyable.

Although they steer clear of the capital, this area is still intimately familiar to Caleb in a way he, foolishly, hadn't expected. The Mighty Nein breaches the outskirts of the Pearlbow Wilderness on a cold, clear morning, and Caleb looks out across the familiar terrain of the snow-covered Zemni Fields with a painful kind of nostalgia in his chest. They meet another cart on the road, a tinkerer who speaks Caleb's mother tongue and tells him of a village nearby, and it takes him the rest of the journey there just to pull himself back together from the encounter. 

He wants to enjoy this, though, in a way he would not have expected a month ago. When he met Nott the two of them avoided many places to the east and the north together, and before her he was all alone and would never risk the threat of cold winters or biting memories that lie in wait here. But he wants his friends to enjoy some part of the good things Caleb remembers.

Pulling their cart into the little village is the strangest kind of homecoming he could have imagined. It feels like vertigo, almost, like if he is not careful he might trip and tumble face-first into the past. As the seven of them seperate to explore the town, Caleb mutters a few words about a bookshop and breaks away. He doesn’t quite feel like joining anyone else in a shopping trip, not just yet. He has not been this far north in years. Everything around him feels at once comforting and raw. 

The snow in the street crunches and squeaks beneath his feet as he walks on by himself. It’s a very small town, just enough to meet its own needs this far from the capital. As Caleb wanders, he thinks about his past, about the last time he was in a village like this. He thinks about Rexxentrum, about all the triumphs and regrets he has scattered between here and there. He thinks about his family, about his old friends, and about his new ones. The Mighty Nein. How much he has come to care about them, how much their loss would hurt. How much he is willing to do for them, how much he is keeping from them.

He knows, in the back of his mind, that he has decisions to make in the future. Before all of this he thought his path was very clear, before the Mighty Nein and Nott and… and Mollymauk. They have all changed him, in a way, and it is equal parts worrying and terrifying and somehow comforting. Three months ago, he had a vague plan to meet some people and use them until he was powerful enough to change his own life, then leave them behind with no remorse. But now if he thinks about leaving behind the friendship and brightness that has come back into his life, he feels like his ribs become too small for his heart. 

Yet if he remains with them, what is he going to do? He can’t abandon his plans—as nebulous and unwieldy as they might be, he has to _try_ to reach more power, to change what he has done wrong. But if he stays, he will inevitably reach a point where he has to tell them the truth. Beauregard and Nott already know. He can’t expect his past to remain hidden from everyone, not when it still haunts him visibly, not when it has made so much of who he is. 

And then there is Molly. 

In all likelihood, even coming clean about his past would not solve everything, and it would surely create new friction between Caleb and the group. He and Fjord are on better terms than they were when the other man held a sword to Caleb’s throat, but that does not mean that any of them trust him. He would hate to lose the awkward yet sincere understanding he feels with Yasha, or the cheerful mischief that Jester turns on him occasionally. Most of all, though, as he walks down cold, clear streets that take him back to his childhood, Caleb wonders what would become of the small warm _something_ between him and Mollymauk. Most days he doesn’t know whether he should cherish or smother it, but every day that he puts off that decision it seems to grow regardless. There is an irrepressible freedom and an unrestrained joy in Molly that Caleb is drawn to, and every time that bright grin is turned his way he loses his breath. 

But he has no idea what Molly would think of him if he knew where Caleb comes from, what he has done. Logic tells him that Caleb’s deeds are too monstrous for even that flippant attitude to overlook, that Molly would turn from him if he knew that Caleb is worse than a liar and a cheat, he is a betrayer of the worst sort. But there is also a small, hopeful voice in his mind that says there is a chance it would be alright. Maybe Molly would look at him and repeat the very same words he once did in the Leaky Tap, would absolve Caleb of his past, because why should the past matter at all?

Caleb takes a deep breath. There are no answers for him here in this town. It's not Blumenthal, not quite his hometown, as much as the familiarity strikes him deep behind his ribs. He shakes himself back to the present moment, pushing down the conflict inside him. It will not help him in this moment. Soon enough he will have to decide, and let the cards fall where they may. Right now, there is just the snow covering the dark green pines and the peaks of houses, and the smell of spiced wine and meats floating on the crisp air. 

“I think I like it here.” 

Caleb glances over. And, in this moment, there is Mollymauk. He appears to be in good spirits, now that he has acquired proper winter outerwear. It feels odd to glance slightly _down_ at him, but his new fur-lined boots did not come with the same dramatic heel as his beloved carnival boots. His bright red eyes peer curiously around from under the fur trim of his hood, large enough to fully cover his horns and flop over his forehead. He has also found a deep green scarf, similar in color to the evergreen trees around them, and wound it around his neck and up over the lower half of his face, as well. He looks a bit ridiculous, all bundled up. Caleb's foolish heart aches sweetly at the sight of him. 

He clears his throat. “What is it that you like?”

Molly's eyes smile at him over the top of his fluffy scarf. “It's pretty,” he says, “and the snow can be a hassle but I like it. I don’t think I’ve ever been this far north, definitely not in the winter. And people are pretty friendly, even if it is mostly humans.” He waves a bag under Caleb's nose, and he's hit with the familiar smell of warm Lebkuchen. “Plus, I have no idea what these are called, but they're excellent.”

“ _Lebkuchen_ ,” Caleb says automatically, and the scent of them takes him back, and for an instant he is smaller than the kitchen table and his mother is rolling out the dough and he is reaching for a pinch of it and giggling—

“Caleb?”

His name—chosen name, not the one people used to call him when he lived here, in another life—pulls him back to the present. Molly is looking at him with poorly disguised concern. The bag of sweets is nowhere to be seen or smelled. 

Caleb tries for a smile. “It's alright,” he says. “You don't have to—you should enjoy them, don't worry about me.”

Molly reaches out to him—he's acquired mittens, too, with pink and green stripes, where on earth does he find these things?—but does not touch him, which Caleb… appreciates, but also mourns just a bit. Part of him wants to know if Molly's ridiculous mittens are soft. “They aren't going anywhere,” Molly says calmly, “but you went away there, a bit. You sure you're alright?”

“ _Ja_ , I…” Caleb looks at him, lets himself really stop for a moment and look at Mollymauk in all his oddly comforting strangeness. A few snowflakes cling to Molly's eyelashes, the fur around his face. What Caleb can see of his face looks uncharacteristically open and sincere. 

Caleb clears his throat. “I grew up near here,” he says, a leap of faith and a rush of _something_ he cannot find the name for. He feels a little nauseous, but that is fleeting. When it passes, and he sees Mollymauk still looking up at him like he's interesting, something warm fills his belly in its place. He dares to reach up and brush a few snowflakes free of Molly's hood. 

“Brings back memories?” Molly's voice sounds higher than normal. It must be Caleb's imagination, his mind still spinning with conflicting emotions. 

“Ja.” He lets his hand fall. “Good and bad ones.” 

He clears his throat again. "Have we found an inn for the night, yet?" he asks, changing the subject.

Molly lets him do so graciously. "Yep! We left Yasha, Beau, and Fjord there getting us rooms, and then I left Jester and Nott at the sweetshop to come find you. Any luck on a bookshop?"

"Closed," Caleb sighs. "Perhaps in the morning, though I do not have high hopes for arcane studies this far from a city." 

"Well, we can check for you before we leave, just in case. For now, Mister Caleb, let's get you warmed up." He turns and holds out his mittened hand. "You look freezing and I want to try some of this mulled wine stuff."

Caleb hesitates. There's no pressure in Molly's gesture, he knows this. The mittens look warm, and he is cold. _Don't get soft_ , part of him hisses, while another part wonders _what could it hurt?_

Well. It could hurt Caleb's foolish heart to grow fonder of Mollymauk than he already has. It might be idiotic to indulge himself anymore, to open himself up further. 

He is self-aware enough to know that there are cracks in his armor that were not there before. They have been there since Shady Creek Run, at least. He doesn't know if he's strong enough to shore them back up before it's too late.

Molly's hand starts to fall back to his side. Before he knows it, Caleb has reached out and clasped it in his own. 

He's very warm. The ridiculous mittens are very soft. 

"Lead the way, then, Mister Mollymauk," he says, and silently thanks any god who listens that his voice is level.

* * *

 The inn that the others have found is dark and smoky inside, but there’s a kind of comfort in that as well. There are enough patrons to cover the sound of any private discussions, but not the kind of carousing that makes Caleb want to shrink down into his coat. The rest of the Mighty Nein appear to have already claimed a table in the corner, perfect for discussing their next move.

Mollymauk gives a dramatic full-body shiver and tosses his hood back as soon as the door shuts behind them. Caleb is almost sorry to see him tug the mittens off and pocket them, but he tells himself sternly to ignore it. Another part of him thinks that it’s early winter yet, and surely the mittens will make a reappearance once they’re on the road. 

They reach the table just as a round of drinks is being deposited in front of everyone. Mollymauk snatches the flagon that’s put down in front of Beau, despite the fact that there are plenty of drinks to go around. She retaliates by yanking on his scarf. Before the squabble can progress, Yasha pulls Molly down into the seat next to her, without pausing in her first deep drink of her own ale. Molly tugs his scarf away and sticks his tongue out at Beau. 

“There might be more opportunity up this way than we thought,” Fjord says, ignoring the antics at the table as Caleb gingerly takes his own seat. The deep golden beer in front of him is smooth and rich across his tongue. The room is warm and safe in a familiar kind of way, and he keeps catching snatches of conversation in Zemnian from out of the general mutter of the tavern. It’s very strange to be here as an adult, with new friends and a new purpose, so very different from the old days. Caleb summons Frumpkin into his lap with a soft _snap_ of his fingers, and buries his free hand in his familiar’s fur. 

“We talked to the locals a little bit,” Beau says, slouching back in her seat. “There’s not a whole lot going on here, but people are getting worried, getting a little spooked. Some rumors of shit happening a couple towns over, closer to the mountains. Livestock being taken, people going missing, maybe our kind of paying gig.”

“There’s also a lotta people frettin’ over the local Crownsguard being called east,” Fjord adds. “Not a whole lot left in the way of protection in these smaller towns. Might be a lot of paying jobs opening up for some trustworthy mercenary types like ourselves.”

“Did they say in particular what they might be hiring for?” Molly asks. “Any names they might have for us?” 

“All we got’s the name of the town having the most pressing issues,” Fjord says, “so our best bet looks like heading towards this place… Avendorf and seeing what we can see.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Molly agrees, just as the barmaid returns with several bowls and a full loaf of bread. 

“Any decision on those rooms?” she asks. “There’s a storm blowing in, looks like we’ve only got those two left for tonight. If you’ve got horses with you, best to stable them up as well.”

“We will take you up on that,” Fjord says smoothly, “how much for the rooms?”

Caleb lets the sounds of the tavern wash over him, content to sit quietly amongst his friends and tuck into his meal. Across the table, their resident circus people are leaning against each other, murmuring back and forth. Yasha’s smiles are soft and fleeting, but Mollymauk seems to light up their corner. Without Caleb’s permission, a small smile creeps across his lips just watching the sweeping hand gestures and excitable tail across from him. He looks quickly down at his stew.

_I believe in second starts_ , he tells himself, just as he told Molly weeks ago. Perhaps he is not ready to put his heart in Mollymauk’s hands, not yet. But his history, the wounds of his past… it is a calculated risk, letting Molly decide whether he is worth knowing, after this.

When Mollymauk stretches and announces that he’s heading to bed, Caleb waits only a few minutes before making his own excuses as well. Jester and Nott have engaged Fjord in a card game that looks to be just getting started; as much as it makes Caleb’s guts tighten and his palms sweat, this might be his best opportunity to speak with Molly alone. At the very least, he tells himself, he can always leave the room and still sleep under a roof tonight, instead of keeping both of them trapped inside the Tiny Hut or the cart together if it goes poorly. 

Finding the room they’ll be sharing is the easy part, with only four to choose between. Making himself turn the doorknob is the hard part. He takes a deep breath and pushes inside. 

Somehow, the room already smells like lavender and patchouli. It’s almost enough to make Caleb laugh, how quickly Mollymauk makes himself at home on the road. He finds Molly himself kneeling underneath the room’s single window, swords laid out in front of him. His murmured words pass too quickly and quietly to catch, but his soft voice and gentle intonation fills the room with a soothing hum.

It’s almost a disappointment when Molly’s words come to a halt and he stretches his arms high above his head. “Ah, Mister Caleb,” he says. Caleb takes a seat on the bed, and watches Mollymauk’s deft hands complete his little ritual, folding his swords away with practiced movements. 

Molly is unbearably lovely in the soft yellow lamplight. Caleb does not deserve the smile that is aimed at him, but he cannot help but want it anyway. There is nothing else he can do in good conscience, except to take the leap and brace himself for the fall. 

“Molly,” he begins quietly, “there is something I need to tell you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus: Molly lookin very hecking cute in his new winter gear, brought to you by the amazing [Panda](https://twitter.com/PandaMeNope)!!!
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> Thank you so much to my wonderful beta, and thank you all so much for sticking with this story. I'd love to hear about which parts you liked or what you thought about this chapter! <3 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stumbles back in four weeks late with Starbucks* hi yes this is still a fic please enjoy

The woman running the inn turns out to be right about the storm. It’s not as bad as some long-ago memories Caleb has of true blizzards, but it would still be a death sentence for their horses and perhaps them. Fortunately, the inn is warm with good food and good ale. Unfortunately, it’s also small, and the Mighty Nein are quite a few restless assholes with short attention spans. 

By midafternoon on their second day, Jester has run out of things to draw dicks on and Caleb has run out of places to hide from Mollymauk. 

Not that he's  _avoiding_  Molly. It’s just that every time he sees Molly about to enter the same room he’s in, he is gripped with an overwhelming urge to flee the area. Mollymauk is not to blame, either—it is only Caleb’s own mind telling him that Molly’s kindness is too good for him, that surely he will rescind it if he talks to Caleb again for too long.

But there are only so many places he can hole up in this little inn, and he needs more materials, as well. He’s holding out hope that the bookstore he spotted upon arriving will have the things he needs, and, by the afternoon, Caleb is seriously weighing the risks and rewards of braving the ongoing snow in search of paper and ink and a bit of _quiet_. He’s very fond of Jester, but if she draws another unicorn in his books, she might get unlucky and accidentally change one of his important spells.

He’s tucking his books safely inside his coat when he looks up, in time to see a pair of very familiar boots coming down the stairs. 

... 

_Molly’s hands settled atop Caleb’s with a light touch, easy enough to pull away if he wanted. But Caleb left his hands where they were. The warmth was comforting, and he could not bring himself to lose it._

_“I won’t say it doesn’t matter,” Molly said, his voice pitched low, “because it obviously matters to you.”_

_He could only nod. Molly’s nails were freshly painted with a rich blue color. It looked very nice, and Caleb ran his thumb lightly over the smooth surfaces._

_“Caleb.” Slowly, Molly threaded their fingers together. “I care about_ you _. I said before and I stand by it, I don’t care where you come from more than I care about who you are here, right now.” His fingers squeezed lightly. “Right here, right now, I like you. And this doesn’t change that, alright?”_

_..._

“I have to, ah,” Caleb blurts out. He grabs Nott’s hand. “I need to find some… things, I hope, um…”

“Caleb, it’s still snowing though!” Jester calls, but he is already tugging Nott along and pulling his scarf up against the elements. Nott scrambles up his back, hiding her face entirely from the sudden sharp wind that greets them, and it’s not as if Caleb can blame her. 

But at least he has time to think, out here. The storm isn’t that bad, anyway. It’s just heavy snow, that’s all. He can even see most of the way down the street, and he sets his feet determinedly in the direction of the bookshop. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he hears Nott grumble from his back. He doesn’t answer her, not with his cheeks already stinging with cold. He’s probably a fool, but at least he knows it. There’s no need to tell Nott just how much. 

_..._

_Caleb let his breath out very slowly, feeling like he was letting poison out of his lungs with it. “I am a terrible person,” he said, repeating himself, but maybe Mollymauk hadn’t heard him the first time._

_“You_ were _, I won’t argue with that.” Caleb looked up, surprised. Mollymauk looked unrepentant, calm, not at all like how Beauregard and Nott had gazed at him with pity, with sadness as they’d offered sympathy he could never accept. Molly squeezed his fingers again, and without thinking about it Caleb squeezed back. Perhaps he was gripping too tightly. But Molly made no move to pull away._

_“It sounds you were a shit person,” he said, “and ran with other terrible people, too. Did a lot of terrible things and had some awful things done to you in return.” He shrugged. “Sounds a bit familiar, hm?”_

_“You are not like that,” Caleb protested immediately. In no world that he could imagine would Mollymauk be as tainted and horrible as what Caleb had done. Molly brought people small joys and harmless mischiefs. Nothing like the grief and unforgivable act Caleb had wrought against the people he should have saved at all costs._

_“How would I know?” Molly replied. He shook his head, jewelry winking softly in the lamplight. That one irrepressible violet curl fell into his face again. Caleb squeezed his hands to stop himself from touching it. “My point… my views about the past are the same, Caleb. I was different, before I was me, and maybe this body did awful things. The only difference is that you_ know _yours did awful things before you were you.”_

_..._

The door to the bookshop opens in a rush of warm air and relief. It’s well-lit and comfortable inside, with sturdy dark beams across the ceiling and tables made of lovingly crafted oak. Caleb takes in a deep breath full of the smell of old leather and yellowing paper and the faint but pungent scent of herbal components, and counts what lucky stars he still has. 

There isn’t much in the way of arcane supplies in a town this small, but the bookseller has small amounts of enchantment-grade paper and ink in stock. Caleb manages not to weep in front of them, but his feelings must be evident on his face, because Nott gives him a pat on the elbow and the proprietor leaves him alone with a warning not to try and funny magic near the books. With a promise and an extra gold piece exchanged, Caleb and Nott are allowed to settle in and wait out the snowy afternoon.

The scrolls themselves present him with a bit of a challenge, though. Both of them lie outside his normal school of magic, but he is fairly confident he can have a good grasp on just one of them with enough time, with the materials he has here. It's a choice of which one he can learn now, and which one will have to wait, possibly for weeks until he can copy it into his book. How many battles they may face before then, what kind of dangers they might encounter. 

Caleb looks over the two spells scrolls, and the small amount of paper and ink at his disposal.

_..._

_“I’m guessing you weren’t always Caleb, either, were you?”_

_Caleb shook his head, his throat tight. “Bren,” he whispered, because what was one more secret to bare and bury in one night? “My name was Bren.”_

_“Sounds better than Lucien, doesn’t it?” Molly snorted. Caleb wasn’t sure how to answer. Molly took a deep breath. “Do you feel better, for telling me about this?”_

_“I didn’t want you to think higher of me than I deserve,” Caleb muttered. He still wanted that soft look in Molly’s eyes, the brightness of his smile, the delicate flutter of potential in the air between them, but he didn’t say that. Impossible. Too much pressure on one person, to know of Caleb’s garbage and his muddled feelings at the same time. He would leave it up to Molly, whether he wanted to stop those little smiles now that he knew everything._

_“I’ll keep thinking of you exactly how I please,” Molly said firmly. “And as far as I’m concerned, you’re Caleb. Who you are right now, that matters. That’s the man I know, not someone from ten years ago. As long as you keep thinking of me for exactly who I am, and not for whoever had this body ages ago. Deal?”_

_Caleb finally lifts his gaze to meet Molly’s eyes. “Deal.”_

... 

He takes a deep breath and pulls a scroll forward. 

* * *

 Finally, the storm blows itself out and the townspeople begin to clear their streets for normal business. Caleb is only too happy to gather his things back up. The new spell in his book is likely the most valuable thing he can find in this town, and it is high time they moved on toward an actual job prospect.

“Sounds like the way towards the Pride’s Call should be safe enough to traverse,” Fjord reports as Caleb and Nott him outside, “at least seeing as we’ve got some enchantments on our shiny new cart.” 

Jester and Beau emerge next from the inn. Their little blue friend is far more cheery than the rest, and unencumbered by new winter gear like the rest of them. Even Beauregard has relented to the weather and bundled up with a heavy cloak over her traditional monk robes. 

“How far do we have to go for this new place?” Jester asks, skipping through the snow drifts near the door. 

Beau keeps an eye on her, shaking her head slightly. “At least a week,” she grumbles. She pulls her cloak tighter. “Hopefully the weather gets better, we’re gonna go a little bit south to get to this place.”

Mollymauk is the last to leave the inn, with a swagger in his walk and a shit-eating grin on his face. His hood is thrown back, leaving his horns on full display. 

Caleb narrows his eyes. Even in racking his impressive memory, he has no idea what this new development is. “Mollymauk,” he says slowly, “what… do you have on your horns?” 

Jester gasps and claps her hands. “Oh, Molly, you got horn cozies! They’re so cute!”

“The fuck are horn cozies,” Beau says flatly. 

Molly’s grin breaks into a snort. “Do—do they—” his shoulders shake, and he snorts again, then dissolves into an undignified giggle. Jester laughs along with him, delighted by the strange light brown knitted coverings wrapped around his curling horns. “Do you like them?” Molly gasps, his voice high-pitched and gasping between laughter. “They’re—Lottie made them for me! They—they’re—”

“They look like pastries!” Jester squeaks. Beau is looking incomprehensibly between the two giggling tieflings. Yasha has a broad, indulgent grin across her face. Caleb looks around at them, and back at Mollymauk wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, and feels an irrepressible smile taking over his face. 

“Wait, wait,” Molly gasps. He gives a half-turn, and his tail waves out from under his coat. Caleb presses his hand over his mouth, pulling the corners of his mouth back down even as his cheeks ache with a smile. Molly’s tail waves cheerily at them, wrapped up in knitted yarn just like his horns. The tail… sock? scarf? Caleb has no idea what he’s meant to call something like this piece of clothing. Whatever it’s called, it is pink and green just like his mittens. As Molly waves it through the air, tiny glass beads flash and wink in the bright afternoon light. There is a small fluffy ball covering up the tip of his tail.

“This is the _best town_ we’ve ever been to, guys,” Jester squeals. “Oh man are we sure we have to leave?” 

Molly swishes his tail over and twines it with Jester’s. “It’s a bit small for us, dear,” he says regretfully. “Not quite enough to keep all of us occupied for much longer.”

Jester sighs deeply. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

Molly reaches up toward his horns and begins undoing a small series of buttons along the underside. “Here,” he says, and he winds the winds the knitted piece around her horn. “We can each have a nice souvenir from here to remind us, and if we ever pass through again, we’ll say hi again. And in the meantime, we’ll head on further west and see if any of these rumors come with gold to them, alright?”

Jester grins at him and swings their tails together. “Yeah, okay,” she agrees, “that sounds like fun too!” 

Caleb is too slow to turn away when Molly looks over at him, a contented smile still on his face. His face brightens when he sees Caleb, though, and Caleb freezes in place in the back of the cart. He doesn’t want to turn away and be an utter _arschloch_ to Molly, not really. His stomach tightens with nerves as Molly scrambles into the back of the cart. 

“Hello there, Mister Caleb,” he says. His tail sways behind him, and Caleb’s eye catches again on the cheerful little ball at the end of it. Molly tosses his pack down and scoots closer to Caleb, getting himself comfortable. “Do you—” 

Jester pulls herself up into the cart, and Molly stops. His demeanor doesn’t fall, as such, but there is a moment where his tail droops and his shoulders slump, before he drapes himself along his chosen seat with every appearance of ease.

“How many days to Avendorf does your map say, Jester?” he asks. 

“Probably like another week,” Jester replies, settling herself in her own corner of the cart. Caleb watches her surreptitiously, wondering how she will fare being back on the road. Yasha and Fjord have been very quiet about their time in captivity, but Jester’s seemingly unhampered spirits have persisted. He doubts that she is truly as carefree as she seems after such an ordeal, but so far her act has not slipped in his presence, at least. Caleb glances sidelong at Molly, just in time to see his mask fall over a similarly concerned look. Quickly, Caleb lowers his gaze back to his hands. Perhaps Jester is alright, perhaps not. At least they didn’t have to tell her that one among their number had been lost while she was unable to heal them. Caleb would not want to be the one to tell her that her friend and fellow tiefling died on the road to rescue her.

Hopefully a new job will take her mind off of things. Maybe, if they are lucky, it will even go smoothly and they can procure the funds they’ll need going forward. If Beauregard’s contacts are still valid, a trip out of the Empire would not be the worst idea. Caleb wonders if he is the only one among the group who has never seen the ocean, only read about it. 

For now, the southern climes remain very far away. Fjord urges the cart forward, and the snow-covered fields roll past once more.

* * *

 It is several days on the road to the town in question, but they start seeing disturbing signs in the wilderness long before they reach Avendorf. The slumbering winter landscape around them is not the picturesque snow-covered expanse of evergreen trees and shrubs that Caleb remembers from his youth. With increasing frequency, they pass by frozen piles of rot, plants and small animals dusted with snow and falling into decay. 

Molly gazes out at the darkening landscape as Caleb sets up their nightly bubble, his arms folded across his chest. “Don’t... touch anything,” he says uneasily. “There’s something off about all of this, I can… feel it.” He makes a face. “Just—we’re only one more night out of town, let’s just all agree to not touch anything out there, alright?” 

“No arguments from me,” Fjord murmurs, shivering. “Some of this shit out there looks even worse than the swamp.”

A little grin picks up the corner of Molly’s mouth. “Worse than a slopdolly?” he asks. Fjord gives a long, deep sigh. Caleb ducks his head toward his components to hide the smile on his face. 

The night passes uneasily, sleep being fretful and fragmented. Caleb wakes up at one point, unable to pinpoint exactly what roused him. He turns over. It’s still almost surprising, how well he can see in the dark when his lucky stone is on his person—he supposes that he’ll get used to opening his eyes at night and being able to see immediately. Even under the dome, everything is muted and washed of color in the dark. He almost wouldn’t know Molly’s silhouette by itself, without the veritable flare of color that surrounds him; it’s only the horns that give him away in the dark. Molly has extricated himself from the heap in the center of the bubble, still with Yasha’s arm draped across his lap and Jester’s tail around his ankle. Caleb can’t quite see his face. He doesn’t want to draw his attention away from whatever he might sense outside their safe haven. 

He wonders if Mollymauk senses anything, or if he simply can’t sleep. The last time Molly’s mysterious powers kicked in, the forces of undeath and dark necromancy nearly overwhelmed the Mighty Nein. It doesn’t bode well for this town that his otherworldly senses are stirring again now. 

Molly turns slightly, and Caleb catches a small flash of his eyes in the dim grey-washed nighttime. “Everything’s fine, Caleb,” he hears, pitched soft enough not to wake anyone. “Go back to sleep.” 

There are a hundred things he could say, but none of them are made for the close quarters of the Tiny Hut. He pulls Frumpkin against his chest and closes his eyes.

* * *

 A pervasive darkness and unease hangs over Avendorf as the Mighty Nein arrive. Something corrupt sours the very air around them, so heavy that they can all feel it even without the dubious benefit of supernatural tracking skills. Molly can clearly feel its presence even stronger here; his ears are pressed flat as if he sees a threat, and his tail remains wound tensely around his own leg. 

Although it’s a very quiet, wary welcome that greets them, it is immediately obvious that there is a job here for them. A half-dozen posters flutter on the notice board just inside the gates, some clearly several weeks old while others look freshly scripted. Each of them offers a reward for protection, for fighters, for anyone willing to seek and destroy a mysterious force beyond the city walls. 

“This certainly looks like us,” Fjord mutters as they pass by. “Seems to be the thing we’ve had the best luck at so far. Might as well stick to what we know.”

“I’m not sure this _is_ something that we know,” Molly mutters. His hands have been straying to the hilts of his swords all morning, his head turning back and for to keep an eye out all around them as they covered the last few miles into the town. The tetchy, restless countenance probably won’t do them much good as they try to gain the confidence and potential gold of the local lawmaster, though. As they tie up the horses and cart, Yasha puts one hand on Molly’s shoulder. Even standing half behind the corner of the cart, Caleb can see the tension running through him loosen immediately. 

“We’ll be okay, Molly,” he hears her soft voice assure him. “We’ve got this, yeah?” 

Molly sways into her, bumping his shoulder into her broad chest. “I don’t like the feeling this place gives me,” he sighs. “It’s like a… bah, it’s just something tickling the back of my neck.” He shoots a quick smile up at Yasha, and Caleb ducks his head to avoid being seen eavesdropping. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses a little wave of pink and green as Mollymauk’s scarfed tail waves through the air. 

“So, let’s split up,” Fjord declares. “We need supplies, we need information, we need a place to stay.” He points at Jester, hesitates, then points at Molly and Yasha instead. “Supplies? Definitely food, healing potions if they’ve got ‘em.” 

“I’m getting _paid back_ this time,” Molly complains, but he links his arm with Yasha’s without hesitation. 

“I’m going to look for arcane supplies, as well,” Caleb says before anyone can assign him a task. “It’s doubtful, but perhaps I can find something useful.” 

Fjord nods, then points to Jester and Nott. “If you two find us a place to stay, do you promise to actually find a good place and _not_ start interrogating everyone and get us thrown out before we get a meal?”

“Wait, I thought we were going to be the information-getters!” Jester cries. 

“We’re the best detective team here!” Nott says, hands on her hips. “You’re never gonna solve the mystery without us on the case!” 

“Yes… sure,” Fjord stumbles. Nott narrows her eyes at him. He clears his throat. “How about you two work on the mystery of the best small-town tavern for now, and Beau ‘n I’ll do the grunt work for you. We’ll meet back up tonight and go over what we find out with the, uh, the real experts.” 

“Okay, that does sound like a good plan,” Jester agrees. She takes Nott’s hand. “We can make sure that we get the good rooms and stuff, like one that has free breakfasts and nice sheets and stuff.” 

“And not like that weird place in the swamp,” Beau adds, “that shitty bougie place with all the water on the floors.”

“Water all over the floors, got it.” Jester nods firmly. She takes Nott’s hand and skips away before Beau can get more than a strangled protest out. Nott scrambles with her, cackling, as their footfalls crunch in the light snow. 

As Beau and Fjord begin to make their way toward the largest building on the main street, presumably the town hall, Caleb wanders down the road. Avendorf is slightly bigger than the last town they were in, at least large enough to warrant a fair amount of Crownsguard protection in times of peace. In these times, they will surely have less manpower but more coin to buy the services of mercenaries, and Caleb can only hope they have a small amount of arcane stock as well. 

He peers down a wide alleyway, hoping to see a sign or two promising a shop. “Even just a new book or two,” he mutters to himself, the rough burr of Zemnian so familiar and natural rolling off his lips into the cold air. “Don’t get your hopes up for new ink in this town, there are only so many weird apothecaries that a pretty carnie can find for you—” 

"You've been avoiding me, Mister Caleb." 

He jumps and swears, almost slips in the muddy snow. A quick lavender hand shoots out and grabs his elbow, catching him from falling. Caleb steadies himself, hoping that the red on his face will look like exposure to the cold wind and not blush. Mollymauk does not speak Zemnian, he reminds himself. He’s safe in his own foolish crush for now.

“Sorry.” Molly releases his arm once he’s firmly on his feet again. He has a little smile in place, lingering at the corners of his mouth and around the softness of his eyes. Caleb immediately misses the warmth of his hand. “Didn’t mean to startle you, there.” 

“No, I’m alright,” Caleb says. He rakes his hair out of his eyes. “I, ah, I thought you would be with Yasha?” 

“I’ll catch up to her.” Molly’s eyes dart over him, and Caleb looks away. The street they’re on is mostly empty. Several hundred yards away, he can still see Jester and Nott looking for an inn.  

“I know we haven’t talked much since you told me… all that,” Molly says quietly. “And I think… correct me if I’m wrong, but your telling me, it had something to do with this thing we’ve been dancing around, didn’t it?”

Caleb swallows hard. There is no more avoiding their conversation, it seems. He’s done so for too long, anyway. “ _Ja_ ,” he admits softly. “It… I thought it necessary that you know who I am. What I have done. Before we could, ah… dance any further, as it were.”

He glances sidelong at him, but Molly isn’t trying to meet his eyes. He has his face turned upward, his fur-lined hood fallen back to his shoulders, red eyes on the cloudy sky. “I just wanted to let you know that, as far as I’m concerned, I know who you are,” Molly says. “And… I like you, Caleb.” Molly drops his head, a small smile flickering across his lips. “I, heh, don’t know that I’ve been exactly subtle, but I like you a lot. And I’ve thought about everything you said, and it doesn’t change that.” 

He runs his fingers through his hair, sunlight catching on tiny snowflakes dusting on violet curls. “I’ve  known shady people with pasts that they regret for—well, for literally my whole life, as long as I can remember. And this new group, us, I like all of us, despite some pretty glaring character flaws and shady deals all around. And I’m not such a damn fool that I don’t know I’m full of them myself, but… I dunno, my judgement can certainly be suspect at best.” Molly sighs briefly, his breath puffing into a little white cloud in the air. “I guess the long and short of it is, Caleb, I still like you regardless. That’s all.”

“I am not sure it can be that simple,” Caleb says. His heart is racing in his chest, torn between disbelief and happiness, at war with his own convictions. Molly is bright and lovely, and he makes it sound uncomplicated, and a part of Caleb wants desperately to agree with him without another word. He does not deserve it, but he _wants_. And ever since their trial in Shady Creek Run, he has wanted, more and more, to _try_ to deserve things like this. He still feels the ever-burning drive to _change_ things, to reach power and magic and knowledge, yes, but… His desires are becoming muddled. He no longer knows which direction to choose first, but Mollymauk is right in front of him, offering something he cannot stop himself from wanting.

He feels a featherlight kiss against his cheek. “Whenever you're ready, Mister Caleb. You do your thing and I'll do mine, and just know if you do want more—if you decide you deserve a nice thing now and again, let me know.”  

“You are the nice thing in this scenario?” Caleb quips before he thinks about it.

Molly laughs—full and delighted, the laugh that makes Caleb's heart leap and entices him to smile every time. He wants to be the reason for the laugh more often. He _wants_ to make Mollymauk happy, to put a smile on his face and make sure he is alright and content. He shouldn't want these things, he certainly doesn't deserve that smile, but some part of him wants it desperately, inescapably. The same part that still insists, if he used up his only chance to change fate with the beacon in saving Molly, it was worth it.

Caleb swallows past a dry throat. “I might keep you waiting a long time,” he warns. 

Molly shrugs. “You know, I've never really waited for something before? Instant gratification is actually pretty easy when you're only in one place for a few days at a time.” He flashes a grin, but there's a slight edge behind it that Caleb knows all too well. A tinge of uncertainty and anxiety that can darken bright moments, can make even the most carefree person feel rushed to make the most of their time. “And, you know, why wait if you don't know for sure you're gonna have tomorrow?”

“We would get you back,” Caleb says, words spilling from him before he can even think to temper the meaning of them. Impulsively, he takes Molly’s hand in his as well. “If you were lost… to your past, or to something else, we would get you back, Mollymauk.” He hesitates—feels the lingering warmth of a kiss to his cheek, the comfort of Molly's hand in his and the unprecedented promise in his words. “Molly—I would not wish to see you go. Not if there was something I could do to… to keep you around.” 

Molly blinks up at him, and Caleb lowers his gaze before Molly can read too much on his face. He clears his throat, tries to think of anything to steer them away from this dangerous topic. He's well aware that Mollymauk doesn't wish to discuss what almost happened with the Iron Shepherds; even now, weeks later, he still shies away from the dodecahedron, laughs it off whenever the chance to look into it is presented to him. To say nothing of how close they are treading to things that Caleb has no words for, things that he has tried to push down and down, but keep coming up like poppies from the ashen fields of his heart. 

It's dangerous to keep talking to Molly, to even consider his soft offer and softer smile, as much as Caleb aches to see it. He _knows_ it is foolish. 

Molly's hand squeezes gently at his, bringing him abruptly back to earth. He glances at his face, but Mollymauk does not seem impatient or irritated at losing Caleb to his thoughts. He just quirks that crooked little smile at him again. “Thank you, Caleb,” he says quietly. He looks down, his tail swishing gently in the air behind him. “That's… I mean, that means a lot. That you'd even try, I mean, nobody… I thought only Yasha would really care, you know? I mean, just—thank you.” 

It's so strange to see Mollymauk stumble over his words just like Caleb stumbles over his feelings, to see a faint magenta blush spread across the tops of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. It's endearing. 

It makes him want to be foolish, just for a moment.

“May I try something?” Caleb asks before his courage deserts him. “I am out of practice, but I would try… letting myself have one nice thing, as you put it. Perhaps… to see if—” 

“You know me, always a big believer in nice things,” Molly grins. “Sure. What—” 

Before he can lose his nerve, Caleb cups Molly's face in his hands and kisses him.

Molly's small noise of surprise and delight is one that Caleb wants to hold in his impeccable memory for the rest of his days. His lips are very warm, and soft, and Caleb can feel him smile even as he kisses back. 

He pulls away slowly, savoring the last gentle press of Molly’s lips against his own. There before him is the singularly charming sight of Mollymauk Tealeaf blushing, lavender cheeks flushed a deep pink. Molly opens his eyes, a smile spreading across his face. Caleb lets his hands fall from his face, tracing down his arms to take Molly’s hands once again. 

“You might be right,” he says. “I supposed that’s quite a nice thing.”

Molly laughs out loud, gleaming and delighted, his nose crinkling up. “Nice things are good,” he says. “And that was very nice, you’re very… yes, that was very nice.” 

Caleb coughs a little, feeling his own face heat up. “Ah… good. I’m glad. It has, um, been a while for me.” 

Molly’s smile gentles. “We could see where it goes,” he suggests. His tail sways high over his shoulder, the fluff at the tip almost enough to make Caleb burst out laughing. “If you’re—whenever you’re up for that.”

“Um…” That soft magenta blush is very distracting. Caleb wants to kiss him again, so badly, but now is not the time. He squeezes Molly’s hands again instead. “I would like some more time to think, but… I am, I think it’s quite clear that I am interested, Mollymauk.” 

Molly’s smile lights up his whole face. "No rush, Mister Caleb," he says warmly. “I—you know what I think. If you want to do that again, you know where to find me.”

He lifts Caleb’s hands up, his eyes shining with that smile, and presses a kiss to Caleb’s knuckles. That small laugh finally does burst out of Caleb, a release of relief and nerves and confusion and happiness. “ _Ja_ , I suppose I do.” Over Molly’s shoulder, he sees the tall, black-and-white form of Yasha exit one of the shops. He gives Molly’s hands one last pat, and then gently disentangles them. 

Molly steps back, his tail still swaying cheerfully in the air. “See you around, dear,” he says with a little wave of his fingers. Then he turns and makes his way to Yasha’s side, a little spring in his step that is almost, but not quite, a skip.

Caleb watches as Mollymauk catches up to her, as the two of them wander further into town. He tugs idly at the edge of one of the bandages around his hands. Perhaps he should be more anxious, with a dangerous task looming over them and the potential for so much to go wrong; but for the moment, at least, it’s very easy for Caleb to grasp a feeling of peace. 

He looks down at his hands. It’s far too fanciful, but for a moment he thinks he can still feel the spot where Molly kissed him. Ridiculous as it is, the thought makes him smile as he turns, and continues down the street alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, a thousand thanks to Eileen for being a wonderful beta and encouraging me through this chapter when I struggled with it. 
> 
> Also, thank you to folks in the widomauk discord who encouraged tail scarves and horn cozies. They finally make their appearance and Molly is fully kitted out for winter, I hope you like it. <3
> 
> And of course, thank you to everyone reading, kudosing, and commenting! I love hearing what you guys think, and it makes my whole week to know that folks are still enjoying this fic. So thank you <3

**Author's Note:**

> You can listen to the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/a.mackenzie13/playlist/2YbLRmzdhwbmRYHBfXC32E?si=lYUUb_VETgGeRg-fvWMF5A) for this fic if you want!


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